Flowers for Lisa
by Gumball2
Summary: After making a simple, but critical mistake on her latest paper, Lisa struggles to cope with this blow. Then she discovers a short story that rocks her world and makes her doubt everything that makes her mind so great. With her life dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge, she must grapple with these new fears if she hopes to move on.
1. A Theory on Quantum Physics

Lisa always found comfort at night. Huddled around her desk with her beaming lamp. Even with the darkness surrounding her and her work, the light was her shelter. It made the world smaller, leaving out any distractions. And the relative silence rounded it out. With the exception of Lily's occasional purring, it was impossible for the world to invade Lisa with its noise. All that senseless, raucous, ear-piercing noise couldn't bother her.

Despite the late hour, her mind couldn't have been more active. She scribbled down equations and posed numbers, only for the solutions to be calculated seconds later. One step led to another. Write the expression, find the derivative, set it to zero, solve. Next step.

She rarely paused. Why would she? By now, Lisa was well on her way to a new breakthrough, a theorem on quantum mechanics. The anticipated outcomes from her ongoing labor were already illustrated clear as day. She knew that all those past notions of molecular behavior were completely wrong; one of her first solutions in this paper established that clear as day. Now it was a matter of writing, computing, and analyzing. If Lisa had it her way, she could have gone straight until morning with this process, turning over new stones in her intellectual inquiry.

Unfortunately, science itself had other plans. As she inscribed "QED" at the bottom of the page, her eyes widened. Dropping the pencil, Lisa stared at the final product.

Never in all her research did something jump out to her than this. Humanity had been fooled by its oversights. All these years, the most brilliant scientists believed that molecules were but tiny dots connected together by electrons and appropriate forces. What little hope they had before she came along to pinpoint and rectify all in the space of a few hours. She ran her thumb along the side of the handwritten pages. The packet was thick. Now her mind filled up with new possibilities. What inventions can be made with this knowledge? What existing technology could be refined? But most pressing of all: What this could mean for everything else humanity knows? Does it all need a rework too? Are these misconceptions creating a roadblock in the pursuit of discovery?

To think that Lisa was going to sleep after writing those three letters. She had already struck gold and her mind was only getting started. Finding a blank sheet of paper, she furiously scribbled down her thoughts. Hopefully, Lily wouldn't mind the light.

* * *

At last, she was ready. That's what little Lisa told herself in Vanzilla with her Mom driving. She stared at the blurred numbers and letters on the fuzzy pages. All of it was wonderful, she told herself. Soon, the world would be a better place thanks to her.

With her back on the soft, cushy seat, Lisa felt the car's smooth motion. The subtle shifts mixed with the nice material produced a sensory euphoria. This must have been the next step in her inquiry, she thought. First she learned that atoms are strange, and now she became acquainted with another earth-shattering reality. Before she knew it, she became attuned to the soft darkness that can be seen despite the daylight rays.

When she reopened her eyes, the movement sensation was gone. Why did her limbs feel so serene? Why was her sight blurry?

"Are you okay there, sleepy head?" Rita asked.

If she had the energy, Lisa would have sighed. She dreaded that high-pitched voice her mother occasionally used on her. It was so sickingly sweet, yet condescending to the point of insult. Not that that stopped her mother's smile. Lisa wasn't able to stop Rita from undoing her seatbelt and grabbing her. She was pulled towards her mother's chest, struggling to hold onto the important paper.

On other days, Lisa would have protested this lift. She would have clammored her to let her do her own walking. Little Lisa had already come too far to get help on something as basic as walking. But today, her mother's arms resembled that cushy car seat. Any bumps that might have been felt along the journey failed to register. Lisa wished such a journey could last forever.

What was she thinking? Shaking her head, she snapped back to reality. Now wasn't the time doze off. Remembering the precious paper, she pulled it up and tried gripping it with her other hand; there was no way she was losing this intellectual gem.

At last, her mother put her down. Lisa recognized the familiar white walls, fluorescent lights, and tile floors.

"I'll be waiting for you right here when you're done honey," she heard Mom say, "I love you."

"I second that sentiment," Lisa said.

By now, she was fully awake. Her short legs filled with energy, rapidly pacing down the corridor. As she moved, Lisa stared at the increasing room numbers outside he line of doors.

 _"100, 102, 104, 106..."_

As much as she derived pleasure from the facility, Lisa dreaded the long commute getting from the lobby to Professor Glausman's office. For a physicist of his prestige, why did the University award him with such an inconveniently-placed workspace? Did they not know how important his work was?

But Lisa couldn't complain for too long. At long, she arrived at 124, perched at the end of the hall. She peered once more at her handwritten notes. Her eyes scanned the scribbles, making sure every calculation was precise, every step clearly laid out. But a surging, boiling sensation seeped its way through the otherwise cold calculations.

 _"Are you prepared for this? How will Professor Glausman react?"_

Lisa nodded to herself. Of course she was ready. And while the old Professor wasn't one to crack jokes or smile from ear to ear, she knew when her work had impressed him. Something about his aging face crinkling up into a small, yet poignant grin. The white in his grizzled beard brightened up and the rim of his glasses inched ever so slightly up to touch his bushy eyebrows.

 _"What if you're wrong?"_

Her noggin shook back and forth while releasing inaudible tsks. No way, Lisa told herself. She knew she was a brilliant mind with infalliable calculation and analytical skills. Lisa didn't make mistakes and she knew she couldn't.

Finally lifting her head to the door, she assertively knocked on the wood. After several pounds, she took a step back and stared at the door. Lisa gripped the paper. At last, the door swung open, revealing the much taller man in a gray suit.

"Good morning, Lisa," he said, his lips subtly curling upward.

"Salutations, Professor," Lisa said, nodding. She then propped up her work, "I present to you my latest findings on the state of molecular physics, along with all mathematical calculations, derivations, and conclusions."

She gazed up as the towering figure picked her papers and scanned them. Lisa understood as well as anyone the importance of patience and the fact that reading took time, even for academics as respected as Professor Glausman. Still, she found her hands clamped together, the nails clawing into the skin as they tried desperately to contain her anxious anticipation.

He couldn't have lowered the sheets soon enough. Lisa didn't hold it against him for not smiling since that was his usual expression. More time should suffice.

"Lisa, I can tell you put a lot of time and thought into these calculations," he said plainly.

"Well, it wasn't too much time," Lisa replied, readjusting her rims, "it was several simple exercises in multi variable calculus and linear algebra. Hardly any sleep was lost to the work itself."

She had to resist cracking her own grin. After all, with all the simmering anxiety brewing over, Lisa knew she had to maintain a degree of professional (at least until Glausman congratulated her).

"But you made a mathematical error on the second integral."

Her eyes snapped down to the paper.

"Pardon?"

"Look here," he said as he leaned down and presented the findings. The confused Lisa shuffled forward to gaze at her own writing while the wrinkled finger directed to one near the top, "right here, you solve the derivative of this function using the Chain Rule. This is a reasonable step, except that you forgot to multiply it all by the derivative of the interior component. You merely use the Power Rule for the exponent on the outside."

Lisa bit her tongue, desperately trying to keep her jaw from falling off. Her vision bore holes at the glaring error. It was such an easy problem and she resented having taken a concept as simple as the Chain Rule for granted.

"I noticed you made the same mistake for several other functions in your proof. This is coupled with some odd applications of theorems and conclusions one could only derive from yawning leaps in logic and assumptions. Altogether, the final product is sadly uncompelling."

The professor handed her the papers, leaving her only to scrutinize every detail. How could she have been so blind to all this? Her narrow eyes scanned through all the steps, seeking the connections like an astronaut in search of the Moon. Of course, the glaring "derivative" jumped out in all of its erroneous, sloppy character. It was times like these where Lisa wished her perceptions were narrower, capable of forgetting.

Now, she couldn't bear looking the Professor in the eye. Her tiny knees buckled as her usually unimaginative mind filled with vivid fantasies. Whether it was the scathing tirade or the emphatic disownment, Lisa found herself unprepared to deal with the consequences of all her mistakes. At long last, she felt as scared as a typical four year old after a nightmare.

"Don't despair, Lisa. You put forth a lot of great ideas in here," she heard him say. All she could look at, though, were the miscalculated derivatives, "I don't think your arguments are completely wrong. I know you can re-examine this and figure out a new approach to this whole matter. While I'm not usually optimistic at contrarian breakthroughs, I believe you are one of the few minds capable of achieving such a feat."

All Lisa could see now were those pesky problems. The 2x sandwiched in the parentheses ate away her pride. After all these hours pouring through the same problems, building off key conclusions, and in her prime working mentality, how could something so simple and pesky escape her awareness?

"Uh-um...sure," Lisa said, still looking at the mathematical terms. And just when things couldn't get worse, her hands grew sweaty. She didn't see Professor Glausman crack a window shut or turn up the thermostat, but her face heated up like a turkey in the oven. Desperately, her head jerked up to meet her mentor.

"T-thank you and I apologize for my blunder."

"If you want, we can work through this together," he said warmly. His eyes even lightened up, "we could discuss some of your ideas and really pull something together."

Lisa, though, shuddered at the prospect. Why was her mentor giving her that look? His gaze so absolved of the faux pas that would have been considered a disappointment. It should have been seen as such.

In Lisa's view, second chances weren't allowed. While science thrives on trial and error, it doesn't forgive fools shortsighted enough to believe simple conclusions laid just over the horizon. True scholars acknowledged that the existing theorems were devised by impeccable intellectuals over years (sometimes decades) of rigorous experimentation, repetition, inquiry, and calculation before one could even dare call it plausible. Here she was thinking she could flip all that work on its head over the course of six hours deep in the night, hunched on her desk with nothing more than paper and pen.

And now here Glausman was, showing her mercy?

Lisa suddenly found herself shuddering at that familiar face, leaning down just to meet her's. Her entire body threatened to collapse right there, before that downward gaze.

No, she told herself. She was gonna finish this conversation.

"Of course," Lisa said, "I will give it another ex-examination. I'll have something for you soon."

Still, those eyes wouldn't let off their golden, pitiful watch. And his head wouldn't lift itself to a well-earned position. Lisa felt herself paying the price.

"Well that's wonderful. I look forward to listening to your ideas," he said as his lips curled into a grin, "As always, it's a pleasure."

"T-thank you."

She turned her heel and paced out of the office, her body straight as a pencil and legs operating automatically. She jerked left and proceeded down the long corridor. How fitting, Lisa imagined. Now she had time to think about all those wasted hours, her misplaced confidence. That dreaded 2x.

* * *

"Sit tight, honey. Lunch will be ready in fifteen minutes," Mom said as they returned home.

"Duly noted."

Lisa retreated to a halt, watching her mother go to the kitchen. At last, the threat was lifted. No hard questions, no need to attempt lying, and no awkward emotional exchanges. With her brain already flooded with scrutiny and regret, the last thing she wanted was to amplify those difficult emotions with words and expressions.

Retreating to her room might allow her to process the outstanding anxiety and doubt. That hanging weight sagged over her mind and threatened to pull the whole thing down. She just needed to be alone. She loved solitude (at least what she could get with a baby in the room).

Maybe her calculator could ease her mind. While Lisa never needed it for computation operations, the routine tapping of buttons was a form of therapy. The rhythm of moving her little fingers might give her the control she needs to engage in more human interaction.

As she opened the door, her ears buzzed from the familiar cooing. Lily poked her hand through her crate's wooden bars, reaching in Lisa's direction. But her attention quickly drew to a more pressing issue. On the foot of her desk laid a black backpack. The zippers were wide open and some of the books, folders, and crumpled papers had slid out on the floor. And looking up, she noticed her beloved scientific calculator had been removed from its usual location.

Lisa sighed. Permission remained an alien concept for Lynn. Between throwing scrawny guys to the ground over a football and snatching entire bins of leftover meatballs from the fridge, Lynn always had a knack of just taking things. No please. No thank you. Lisa ought to consider herself lucky for figuring out where she could retrieve her necessary tool.

 _Flowers for Algernon_ , it read. The cover consisted of a typical rat standing in the middle of a sillhouetted brain. Was it supposed to be trapped, Lisa thought. Was the story supposed to expose the underestimated intelligence of the average rat? As Lucy would say, it's most likely about emotional responses. And given how emotions are the products of the brain's neurotransmitters sending off quantities of essential chemicals in response to stimuli, perhaps the cover was an appropriate representation of the volume's contents.

Jammed between the pages was a larger sheet, copiously crumpled around the edges. A quick scan of the sloppily written "Lynn Loud" across its top and an examination of the blank responses to guided reading questions solved the mystery.

Lisa remembered all the times her siblings had asked her for help in their own studies. Despite finding much of the content tedious, she always accepted the busywork either out of habit or to avoid disruptive retribution from those physically larger. Out of all the Louds, though, Lynn had a particular habit of coming to her to slog through the material. In other words, no input at all came from her own mental capacities.

While Lisa found it frustrating to do all the work while being unable to get a single morsel of the curriculum to stick to her sister's brain, it was days like these where she appreciated Lynn's lack of motivation. Her sister was too busy at a soccer game anyway, so there was little chance she'd pick it up once she returned. And besides, a little read could clear her mind.

Snatching the book (and the worksheet), Lisa retreated up to her room. During the day, Lily was usually with whichever parent was home playing or eating whatever they threw at her. As much as she loved her baby sister, she enjoyed the isolation. It was always refreshing having the silence and open space to think, to absorb, and to open up.

 _"Progris riport 1"_

Interesting start. For a school trying to teach its students proper English spelling and grammar, this selection wasn't helpful.

Despite the odd style, the content itself wasn't hard to follow. Charlie (the narrator and protagonist) laid out his background. With his descriptions of how he "couldnt find the picturs" on the Rorschach test, he laid out in plain language his below average intelligence. Figures she would be reading about him right now. Lisa sighed as she read on.

All was not lost for poor Charlie, though. A respected researcher that monitored him developed a new operation. While the details were unfortunately neglected, Charlie was told it would raise his "eye-q of 68", rendering him an "intelek** superman".

Lisa raised her eyebrows. She knew lobotomies were originally thought to improve the brain's functionality and even improve mental imbalances. But case after case demonstrated that severing the brain's connections to the prefrontal cortex often produces the opposite effects. The only evidence of this particular experiment working is evidence from a rat named Algernon. After the operation, the rodent experienced tremendous intellectual expansion. The odds of such an operation working on a subject as large and complex as the human brain was dubious at best. Still, she read on, hoping to discover what would come from this "new" procedure.

In the days following the surgery, Lisa noticed a shift. The "progress reports" showed dramatic improvement. Of course, the operation didn't yield immediate results, but Charlie's progress was staggering. Lisa found herself nodding along. Education was such an important pillar of human development. Being able to learn rapidly and get a sense of the world were her two most significant achievements in life.

She turned to Lily, who watched her from the crib. The baby still had much to learn if she wanted to accomplish anything in life. Just last week, she tried teaching Lily basic calculus. Despite her best efforts, though, Lisa realized the hard way that Lily was more preoccupied with her teddy bear than the chalkboard. Lisa couldn't even get her to learn derivatives.

Lisa paused. Not now. This was supposed to lift her spirits.

Peering down at the book, she continued investing herself in Charlie's development. First, he was able to beat Algernon at a race (that's something). Then he's able to read _Robinson Crusoe_ (interesting next step). Then he becomes aware of the pity everyone else has for him.

She paused again. How could she forget the more painful aspects of learning? Then again, it didn't feel painful when she was reading. Everything from theories on how the universe could end to brushing up on the bloody brawls in the animal kingdom should have frightened even adult minds. But for her, no tears were ever shed from these harsh realities. What could she have done? Ignore them?

Much of the middle saw the continued rise of Charlie. He picked up new interests, opened his eyes to what others thought, improved his spelling, and (apparently, above all) discovered love. Lisa never understood romance the way others could. Was this story trying to make her feel like there's a realm in which she lacks even an inkling of knowledge. Even in fields she finds unusual or useless, she had at least one or two facts to point to. But maybe she was underestimating herself. It wouldn't have been hard to think lowly of herself in a moment like this.

Who cared about romance anyway? Lisa remained fascinated by Charlie's ability to read as quickly as she could: a brief glance was all the time either of them needed to cover a page full of text. Reading was a process so natural and automatic, it hardly felt like work at all. Most days, the words flowed into her brain like air into her nostrils. But this particular piece of literature felt different. What was it with a story like this that made Lisa sense each word, forcing her to internalize it before moving onto the next? Was the text really so dense that she had to read it one word at a time?

Charlie seemed to feel the same way too (and then some). Writing was slow for him, as it is for her. Lisa sighed, wishing there were times where her thoughts could just be magically transcribed on the page. Her eyes became glued to the page. Now she had to read on. Who cared about lunch?

 _"Contrary to my earlier impressions of him, I realize that Dr. Nemur is not at all a genius. He has a very good mind, but it struggles under the spectre of self-doubt. He wants people to take him for a genius. Therefore, it is important for him to feel that his work is accepted by the world."_

As she nodded her head, Lisa recalled her previous interactions with Dr. Glausman and other colleagues. Self-doubt threatened their minds as much as any other. Lisa herself had inklings of it surface from time to time (and even now). It was an inevitable bondage, inseparable from the brain's intellectual capacity. In her mind, it was always meant to be overcome in some way.

For her, that solution came from doing more research, to develop an intellect powerful enough to overcome even the most profound of emotions. In simpler minds, such a solution meant reassurance, that no matter how loud the naysaying voice got, it was simply lying. They, according to these people, were better than they thought. All they needed was to give themselves a pick-me-up and the world would become their's for the taking, regardless of where their actual abilities lied.

Lisa seldom bought into such flimsy excusemaking. Some people were just smarter, faster, and stronger than others and those inferior to her just had to live with it. A harsh truth, indeed, but honest in her estimation. Still, a part of her emotional capacity related to such sentiments. Even when working through her troubles, Lisa likes to believe that she had it in her to do anything. She was the golden genius that defied all the odds, broke barriers, and persevered to become something extraordinary. Lisa knew who she was, so a reassurance must have been warranted when she pulled it up. If she broke one expectation, it was inevitable she would do it again.

When Charlie declared the brilliant man not a genius, that couldn't have been a permanent label. Right? That man was a genius. He had been to school, done his work, and his proven himself just like she. So if he wasn't a genius in the eyes of a comparable fellow, what did that say to her?

Despite her apathy to emotional reasoning, Lisa dared to say no. She refused to accept the statement. Dr. Nemur was a genius. So was she. Because if they weren't, then what were they left with?

Charlie had truly emerged as something similar to herself. He had broken all those barriers, leaped all those obstacles, and had become something extraordinary. He shouldn't have come from a level so rudimentary and ascended to one above the clouds. Lisa cringed forward as this fact flashed on the pages.

But before long, Algernon died. It wasn't a pleasant demise. Rather, it was preceded by weeks of rabid regression; he bit Charlie's finger and rendered himself idle. As Charlie struggled to cope with the lost of his companion, he recorded his statistical findings on paper. His curious mind strove to make discoveries of its own, using his and Algernon's personal experiences as the subject.

 _"Artificially increased intelligence deteriorated at a rate directly proportional to the quantity of the increase."_

Her eyes widened.

 _"As long as I am able to write, I will continue to record my thoughts in these progress reports. It is one of my few pleasures. However, by all indications, my own mental deterioration will be very rapid."_

Lisa gazed at the ceiling. She shuddered as she looked at the blank white space, devoid of any substance or color. Her lips tightened. Before long, she found herself looking down at Lily. By this point, the baby had given up her fight to win Lisa's attention and had plopped down on the little mattress, hoping to slip into a refreshing midday nap. Taking a cold inhale, Lisa pressed on.

As she feared, it was all downhill for Charlie. Concepts entered his ears while his brain had transformed into an incinerator, burning away at both the new information and the data already incubated inside. The fine skills, impeccable memory, astonishing self awareness. All of it vanished in the matter of weeks.

And at last, Lisa tensely turned to the last page. By then, the task was difficult given her shaky hand. Why was she letting her silly emotions get the better of her anyway? She was better than this. Or so she thought. This affirmation, though, didn't keep her eyes steady as she read that cursed final "progris riport".

 _"If I try reel hard maybe Ill be a littel bit smarter then I was before the operashun. I dont know why Im dumb agen or what I did wrong maybe its becaus I dint try hard enuff. But if I try and practis very hard maybe Ill get a littl smarter and know what all the words are."_

Squeezing her eyes shut, she closed the book and plopped it on the ground.

Was that real? Did Charlie really exist? And why did Lynn have to lay all this on her? If only her big sister didn't need her stupid calculator. If only she cared enough to do this cursed homework by herself. Her lungs felt like they were made of steel. Lisa's hands gripped the fibers on the carpet. Why? Why did she read that?

"Lisa, honey! It's time to eat!"


	2. Time as Seen Through Narrow Lenses

Macaroni and cheese. Bland, mushy, and a waste of time. As Lisa stared at the meal before her, she held back urges to ask for dismissal. She found meals to be little more than a period of idleness in which she couldn't work. Whenever she tried sneaking an assignment to the table, Mom or Dad would always insist that she "socialize". For Lisa, that just meant sitting at the same table as another human, responding to occasional questions and comments. It was tedious work.

She picked at a piece. She briefly examined the slimy piece, anticipating the taste. She put it in her mouth and chewed. Chewing took the longest since the taste wasn't strong enough for indulgence. And finally, she unceremoniously swallowed it. How exciting.

Lisa wished she had something else to do, anything to pass the time. Sure there was Mom to talk to, but considering her lack of in-depth knowledge of the natural sciences, sustaining a conversation was difficult. Alas, she only had herself to interact with.

Now that she thought about it, eating this food one piece at a time was also difficult because of the irritation in her stomach. She dreaded that burning sensation searing along her intestinal organs. Of all the days, why was the eating process especially slow?

And that story. As if it hadn't already sucked away what little appetite she had to begin with.

The book must have been printed backwards or accidentally substituted the first part of an earlier draft for the ending. That had to be it. Cognitive regression was a phenemenon exhibited only in severe medical cases, such as amnesia, Alzheimer's, dementia, among others. Memories couldn't just slip away in this fashion. And so far as Lisa's narrow-minded expectations were concerned, rebounding was never a possibility. Once one's golden abilities were gone, that was it. Oblivion became a more ideal solution than living in a hollow shell of former glory.

For most people lacking these ailments, such a sudden deterioration of the cognitive capacities appeared impossible. Of course, Lisa could deduce this reality. But Lisa wasn't like most people.

As she choked down yet another sad piece of macaroni, Lisa's analysis turned inward. She understood all the skills and knowledge incubated in her brain. She knew 2,356 digits of pi, every minute breakthrough in physics since Issac Newton, the precise atomic mass of all 118 elements currently on the periodic table. She could even recite Einstein's _Relativity_ manuscript, line by line, word by word. Collectively, Lisa possessed a powerful biological hardware capable of tackling any scientific conundrum.

How could something so great and impenetrable collapse into rubble?

Lisa looked across at her mother, enjoying a crunchy salad. Why must she chew so loudly? Doesn't Mom know how hard it is to concentrate with all this noise? Frustrated, she exhaled through her nostrils and stuffed her mouth with more food. At least the macaroni's soft texture minimized the potential sound.

There had to be an explanation for this. Lisa recalled the details of the story. Charlie didn't start out as a sophisticated specimen. Quite the contrary, Lisa assessed that he could make Leni appear above average in intelligence just by comparison. What a humorous thought.

"How are you doing, honey?"

She flinched. Now Mom decided to talk as well. Maybe it was necessary to break up this concentration a bit, although the last interruption was pretty recent.

"Fine," Lisa replied.

Her head leaned downward. Maybe if she cleared her mind of this irritation, she could somehow get back on track. No more distractions. Distractions only swayed undisciplined minds.

Charlie acquired his knowledge at a later point. And at least when he lost it at the end, he had a frame of reference to consider his decline. His development was a bell curve, or a "hump".

As far as Lisa could remember, her brilliance was already established. Her function resembled an upward exponential function with a large positive y-intercept. In that context, she and Charlie were nothing alike.

But that doesn't explain her life before she could remember. To Lisa, this notion humiliated her. How did her brain fail to retain the sensory stimuli and thoughts governing the earliest moments of her existence? A defect, indeed. Luckily, though, a particular noise manufacturer remained across the table.

"Mother," Lisa said, lifting her head.

"Yes, sweetie?"

"Could you provide a narrative account of my first three months of life?"

"Sure."

Lisa nodded. It was times like these where she appreciated the rapport she had developed in the household.

"You were born in the afternoon," Mom started, "At first, it was just your Dad and I there, but everyone came in the morning after. All your siblings, Aunt Ruth, Pop Pop, Gran-"

"My apologies, Mother," Lisa said curtly, "I am only interested in my intellectual and cognitive origins."

Rita held her mouth open.

"Sure, honey," she said, propping her lips into a grin, "Well pretty much from the moment you got home, you had your eye on books. I remember the first one you read was about different types of flowers. You were on the floor and you just crawled over to it. At first, I thought you were just playing with it, but then you started reading. And when you finished, you said your first word: More."

Lisa nodded. While it wasn't a term profound such as "hypothesis", she admitted it was a bit sophisticated compared to what other babies' first words were. "Momma" or "dadda" wasn't gonna cut it for this child prodigy.

"That was only the start, of course," Mom continued, "after you finished that book, you grabbed the next one and read it cover to cover. Then you did it for the next book, and the one after that. When it was time to put you down for a nap, you cried when we took the book away," she chuckled lightly, "We couldn't get you to stop unless you got that book back."

"Intriguing," Lisa responded, "So is that all? Aside from an incessant curiosity, are there other factors I should know about? More specifically, do you remember a time in which I was idle or no more active than a typical infant?"

Mom shook her head.

"Not at all. You got going almost right away," she said. And then she smiled, "And as your family, we couldn't be prouder."

"Why do you think that is?"

"What do you mean?"

Lisa hesitated. She hadn't adequately prepared that question before utterance. Taking another bite, she spoke.

"What distinguishes myself from other infants that would place me on an accelerated rate of cognitive development?"

Mom looked on inquisitively.

"The most important thing is that you put in the work," she responded, "sure, you got diagnosed with savant syndrome, but at the end of the day, it was you that strove to become what you wanted. You wanted to study and you put the time and energy into making that happen."

The macaroni tasted little better, nor was it more filling. The two features of meals that may have compensated for their drain on time were absent, leaving her with nothing but an urge to feel full. Lisa gazed down at the bowl, contemplating when to take the next bite.

"Do you think I did anything to deserve these skills?" she asked.

A pause. Lisa must have figured her Mom was stumped on that question. Why wouldn't she? By this point, Lisa realized why she was asking all these philosophical questions. She already knew how it was she could get so brilliant. She was even starting to recognize her differences with Charlie. But those nuggets of information didn't feel like enough. She needed more.

"Of course you do," Mom asserted. At this point, Lisa peered up and saw her mother's strong, direct stare, "Do you think that you don't deserve to be smart?"

Lisa shook her head.

"Negative."

She shrunk in her seat. Her eyes dropped to the macaroni. That was the last question. Lisa couldn't bear to put up with that look anymore. Even someone like her understood that her parents could be inquisitive crusaders, determined to find any insecurity or sadness and excavate it, mine her brain for all feelings of doubt. But Lisa didn't need that extra layer of security right now. There was far too much restraint accompanied with such a lifestyle. Any outstanding emotions must be dealt with on the side. Only then could she move forward. And so, she sat and quietly ate the bland pasta.

Having finished the meal, she felt a weight lifted from her tiny shoulders. Leaving her bowl on the table, Lisa retreated to the stairs. As she walked, the conversation continued.

As she confirmed, Lisa had all the markings of a natural, voluntary ascendency. Not to boast, but even she admitted it was a remarkable feat. Indeed, she found her abilities most extraordinary for someone of her age. It wasn't arrogance, Lisa told herself, but merely self-awareness.

There was nothing wrong with her. In fact, these prior assessments now turned out to be absurd, a silly mental trick. Work on emotional control was required, but not before some serious reading.

She entered her room and pulled out one of her physics textbooks from her desk drawer. Lisa examined the cover. Yes, this was the correct volume. She cracked it open and turned to the chapter on quantum mechanics. As she skimmed over the concepts, graphs, and equations, Lisa attempted to stitch an argument together. A refresher on the basics might recontextualize her work. What was the point of fixing a few derivatives when there were broader misunderstandings of basic concepts?

For the most part, that's all it was. Lisa found little point in rereading every single word, unless she wished to be here all day. All she needed were a handful of key words and numbers, which luckily popped out of the pages. Quantum mechanics were truly elementary.

Three minutes later, she proudly slapped it shut. She nodded confidently and slid the book back in the drawer. Gazing up at the desk before her, Lisa ran through all of the ideas she had compiled. It all made sense to her now, as if she had just witnessed the knowledge for the first time. That sense of wonder filled her veins with adrenaline and her brain with oxytocin.

Getting up to the top was always the hard part. Alas, as a hand-me-down from Pop Pop, it was the only "professional" desk she had. Swinging her arms for momentum, Lisa leaped up with all her might. Her tiny hands grasped the black cushion of the seat. She pulled her body, slogging her body up. Her abdomen dragged across the chair as she hauled her legs on.

Lisa panted with relief. Physical strength had once again defeated gravity and fatigue. Now, shall objective scientific fact triumph over blinding naïveté?

"Hey sis."

Sighing, she turned to the troublemaker herself. Shirt splattered with grass stains and her cleats leaving a trail of mud, Lynn snatched her messy backpack from the floor. Using her other hand, she plopped a certain calculator on the desk.

"Had to use this thing for my math homework. Hard as heck, but that thing did wonders," she said, grinning. Indeed, despite the dirt and sweat on her face, an unreflective joy was plastered on Lynn's face.

"Despite the absence of permission, I cannot remain upset due to lack of interest in such volatile emotions," Lisa said, readjusting her glasses.

Lynn kept looking at her with that frozen grin, not even twitching. It was only seconds later that she blinked. Of course, Lisa figured. Why even bother talking with this one if she knew she wasn't going to understand one word she uttered? She sighed.

"You are forgiven," Lisa added.

At first, she planned to simply retreat to her work. Lynn would grab her backpack and leave her alone. If she bothered to ask for help again, the occasion would come st a later hour, under different circumstances. She just needed to start.

Instead, she heard a gruff groan.

"I completely forgot about this," Lynn said. Lisa turned and noticed the familiar book and worksheet in her sister's hand, "sis, could you do this for me?"

Looks like correction and discovery would have to wait.

"Certainly," Lisa answered, taking the assignment. Luckily, Lynn's face lightened up.

"Thanks! You're the best."

Leaving the backpack on the ground, Lynn headed for the door.

"Wouldn't you like me to inform you of the story's plot, characters, setting, themes, and rhetoric?" Lisa asked.

She stopped and turned to her. Once again, Lynn gave Lisa that blank stare. Her eyes lacked any understanding or a desire to figure it out herself. At least this time, it remained brief.

"Nah," Lynn said, flicking her wrist, "I gotta power nap after that killer game," she paused to give a dramatic yawn.

Lisa sighed.

"In that case, proceed with the activity," she said.

All she got this time was the door clicking shut. Perfect. Now she was left with a difficult dilemma. First she turned to her own beloved work. Sure enough, she went to the dreadful derivative and adjusted it. With the proper solution, she sighed. Lisa proceeded to fix all the other problems, ones that existed on false foundations. She had to grab a new sheet of paper just to clean up the scribbly mess her corrections produced.

At one point, she had to put down the pen and crack her knuckles. She grumbled As she used her nimble left fingers to apply pressure on the beleaguered, ink-stained right palm. Despite knowing that the math was correct, none of the numbers were clean enough to create a correct conclusion. It felt like she was descending down an arcane, numerical rabbit hole with no end.

Lisa sighed. Of course it was too good to be true. If new breakthroughs just grew out of trees, humanity would be at least a millennium ahead of its current trajectory. Even average undergraduate students could finish their term paper with a new nugget of knowledge.

Her hand was still sore and smudged with wasted ink. Normally, she would have scoffed at such a negligible factor and proceeded with what really mattered. But for whatever reason, the look and feeling wouldn't stop bothering her. Right now, she wanted to race to the bathroom and wash it clean. Maybe while she was at it, she could take some ibuprofen for her cramp.

Eventually, she took a deep breath. It was only from this mental buffer that Lisa could take a figurative step back. She realized that this whole time, she had been woefully unproductive. She just sat there, overwhelming herself with trivial concerns while the pen laid flatly on the table. When did that ever happen?

Shocked by her lack of activity, her eyes turned to the now familiar book and paper. Lisa recognized that at some point, she would be required to complete this task. And ordinarily, she would have postponed it in favor of scientific pursuit. But gazing at her current work, all of it seemed daunting. Before, all of it was so clean and organized, as if the laws of the universe had neatly aligned to the subjective ideals that facilitate human comprehension. If that work proved fruitless, then the corrections weren't coming any sooner.

Now turning back to the book, it was at least something she could understand. Eighth grade English was a subject well within her grasp. Indeed, upon slipping the paper out from the book, she quickly noticed how simple and straightforward the questions were.

 _"So much for setting high standards,"_ Lisa thought as she smugly grinned.

 _"1) What does Charlie want in the story?_

 _2) How does the spelling, grammar, and word choice change? Why do you think this happens?"_

Lisa scoffed as she scribbled down her responses. By then, who cared about washing her hands when there was nothing unclean about them? Writing the answers exhilarated her. All her worries dissipated, a sensation that could easily be described through metaphors.

Her veins filled with the life (that of intellectual achievement) faster than sound, while her heart raced relentlessly. Those bespectacled eyes bore holes into the sheet's printed words, witnessing her penstroke's inevitable domination. Lisa didn't care that the homework was mere child's play, a far cry from the daunting challenge sitting less than a foot away on her desk.

But it felt so therapeutic. The ease in which she answered the questions, lifting samples from the work with the cold calculation of a surgeon. Any raw emotion the prose had elicited from her had been stripped down to impersonal analysis, properly transposed in words. Perhaps ironically, this process excited Lisa to new highs.

At last, it was finished. Lisa gazed at the elaborate responses she had prepared for each question. Her scribblings were often cramped between the page's physical dimensions, ignoring the invisible margins. Of course, Lisa had few doubts that Lynn would blindly turn it in without reading what had been written. But for once, Lisa felt at peace with this reality. Even she needed to dabble in elementary play on occasion.

She felt better. That story she read was now viewed as no more than a cheap work of fiction, substituting harmful substance with prose that simulates genuine human emotion. It was fun while it lasted, but Lisa now knew better than to think her life was changing. Perhaps she could reflect upon the premise as a funny counterfactual.

Assured of herself, Lisa slid the book and paper back into the bag and leaned back in her chair. Everything was fine. The abrupt feelings of doubt had passed.

* * *

Lisa appreciated that dinner was of a higher quality than lunch. A fresh hot plate of "Lynn-sagna" hit the spot, culminating in a juicy, spicy, and filling material simmering between the tongue and palate. Any initial doubt or dark clouds over her mood had been lifted. At last, she could enjoy even simple pleasures. And the rest of the table seemed to agree, with long pauses separating small bursts of small talk. Silence and good taste made up a euphoric environment suitable for proper development.

She turned to Lily, who fumbled with the food-splotched plastic bowl on her high chair. Lisa couldn't help but look down on her baby sister with a paternal fondness. Someday, Lily would come to appreciate the benefits of balanced meals and spend more time eating than treating the food like play doh.

And of course, proximity required her to acknowledge the rest of her family. Nine older siblings and two parents towering over her, forming enclosing walls around her. Not that that was a bad thing. While it occasionally rendered her uncomfortable in moments of high stress levels, Lisa found merits to having such a numerous familial support system.

For one, their preoccupation in non-academic areas insured that she was always needed for tutoring. It felt nice knowing that her skills carried utility for others. Second, their empathy extended to bestowing gracious acts and gifts upon her. Although her own monotonous demeanor seldom displayed it outwardly, Lisa was grateful that even after locking herself in her room much of the day, her siblings could still find it in them to show their love. One could certainly deduce other reasons, but these two are the central ones from which all other explanations are derived. Individual cases of affection from others or affirmation of her own abilities stemmed from these concrete roots.

Upon finishing her meal, Lisa reclined in her chair. The hard part of any dinner was waiting for the slower subjects to finish their consumption. Oddly enough, conversation slowly slipped in from the ranks, slowing the process even more.

"You'll never believe what happened during the brunch shift today," Dad said as he cracked a grin. Looks like a story was in development, "This big biker dude crashes in and orders the Lynn Special. So I go into the kitchen and prep up the omelette like usual. But then for whatever reason, I throw on blue cheese instead of American!"

He chuckled to himself, hoping others would follow. Only Leni joined after taking several seconds to process what Dad was doing. Oh Leni, Lisa thought.

"I didn't know what I was thinking," he continued, his voice struggling to remain composed. It didn't help that his mouth was stretched virtually from ear to ear, "I got the Special all the way to the table 'cus I didn't know any better. And seconds later, and the guy's face is like this!"

Dad twisted his face into a sheer sign of disgust. With the puckered lips and winced eyes, Lisa had to admit it was a decent acting job, even if it wasn't a necessary means of conveying the information.

"So what happened after that?" Mom asked eagerly.

"He then shouted out 'And I thought Vegas was full of surprises'!"

Both the parents chuckled. Leni mimicked their laughter several seconds after. But Lisa shared the sentiments of the rest of the table: a mixture of eye rolls and uninterrupted food consumption. Her Dad could be a difficult person to find pleasure in. While he went about his day with a sunny demeanor, his attempts at comedy often produced mixed results. Lisa knew she seldom laughed at jokes, but even she recognized that such jokes often failed to meet average people's standards of comedy.

The minutes slowly proceeded. Lisa anxiously awaited the moment in which Leni finally finished her meal. With the social obligation lifted, Lisa excused herself. She hurriedly paced up the steps to her room, ceremoniously shutting the door once inside.

At last, she could work. Lily's absence from the room was but an additional blessing; not only could she work in pure isolation, but she didn't need to consider an audience of any critical capacity (not even average infants).

Lisa briefly scanned over the work she had already done. Of course, the derivative had long since been resolved. Furthermore, the numbers and variables that filled up the other portions of paper seemed to be consistent with her results. There was no need to double check, Lisa thought. Now that she was back on track, she could continue where she left off.

She stared at the last line, where she had written some general hypothesis. Yes, that statement ought to be proven somehow. All she needed was one equation to get her going.

But the longer she looked at it, the more she realized that nothing came to mind. The engraved ink stood there, demanding that it be followed up rather than subject the researcher to endlessly repeat the same thoughts.

Of course, Lisa needed another look at her work. She glazed over the '2x' and all the subsequent equations. She knew she had done them all correctly, even if their results were riddled with fractions, square roots, and multivariable terms. Her mind easily wrapped itself in the material already presented, but blanked when it came to producing something new.

Lisa groaned. Just minutes ago, she felt like she was on the cusp of making progress (however minimal it was). But now, as her head filled with the familiar figures, endless review was increasingly turning into her lot for this evening. Maybe she was just being impatient again. After all, it was that very character flaw that led her down the original error. Glausman most certainly wouldn't have tolerated making the same mistake twice.

As she sank further into her seat, Lisa ran through everything she knew about quantum mechanics. Dense volumes, timely articles, enriching lectures all fused together into a vast, sophisticated web of echoed facts and lonely arguments. All she needed was one idea to bounce off it. It didn't even have to be correct. So long as she had a starting point, she could run the math and go to the laboratory to conduct experiments.

Her lips tightened and her eyes fell shut. Lisa concentrated all her intellectual prowess into the web, shutting out all non germane thoughts. In the darkness, she sensed what felt like a connection. One was a tidbit from a book she once read at the library and another was from one of Glausman's lectures. Perfect. The ideas seemed like they were made to be wedded. How could no one have seen it before?

But just as quickly, the ideas vanished.

Her eyes snapped open. What happened? Lisa liked to think that it was just never meant to be, that the ideas turned out to not have any relevance to one another and her visceral desire to produce results interfered with their rational connection. But unlike before, Lisa felt her stomach hollowing out. Despite having enjoyed a hearty dinner, the nutrients failed to fulfill her.

She desperately tried to bring the two memories back together, to re-examine them. But while she could remember the sights and sounds, they no longer shone like they did mere seconds ago. They had been relegated to the cold, isolated boundaries in which they had been experienced. Alas, Lisa was no closer now to any certain conclusion than she was before.

Lisa sighed. Turning back to the paper, she realized that all she could do was more math. After all, if math had led her down the path she had already traveled, then maybe mere experimentation could move her forward.

She wrote down "42x57". Multiplication was never a difficult task for little Lisa. It merely consisted of mental computation, with a simple answer coming out seconds later. It was the most rudimentary of pick-me-ups. Lisa knew she could multiply.

But as she stared at the two numbers, they were unable to transform into a fused product. Such was preposterous. Lisa knew she could take virtually any two numbers and her brain would do all the work. Now, even that appeared a Herculean task. What was going on?

In her desperate search for answers, her eyes turned to the calculator sitting on her desk. Her calculator. Lynn just had to use it today, the same day Lisa made a complete since of herself in front of her esteemed colleague. Lisa never needed that tool anyway, dismissing it as a lazy device for any slobbering moron to skip out on doing basic addition. She only had it because her parents bought it, arguing that she was a member of that abominable group of "scholars". At best, it served as a desk ornament.

And now, here she was, staring down that accursed device like it has answers. Answers that she needed. She couldn't get them anywhere else. Her mind was now dependent on technology. Lisa recoiled at that thought, refusing to cave into such convenience.

However, the two numbers disagreed. They refused to come together in her mind, only opting for digital transcription on a screen. That was to be the only way she could get anywhere.

Understanding this, Lisa sighed. There really was no other option. And with that, she did the unthinkable. Her little hand reached out and grabbed the calculator.

Lisa looked at it, gripping the plastic brick so tightly, it threatened to snap in her little hand. This was the only way she could do anything.


	3. Swimming in the Sea of Uncertainty

Lisa couldn't believe what was happening. Just four days after her meeting with Glausman and now look at her. She was in the living room, watching television!

With her arm and slouched shoulders leaning towards the couch's arm, Lisa contemplated how she arrived in this position. For the past few days, she had relegated herself to her bedroom, only leaving for meals and occasional trips to the lavatory down the hall.

Every part of her being had transfixed itself on the expansive collection of mathematical equations and endless literature on quantum mechanics. Even with her large-rimmed glasses, her eyes strained from staring at the tiny numbers. Her blackish-blue hands trembled even as they tried to relax on the upholstery. By now, the cushy couch comforted her back and legs like a cozy bed, trying to seduce her into a sweet slumber.

It was only after a marathon of work that she reluctantly agreed to a break. Lisa certainly wasn't being tricked into turning to TV; there were a select number of programs she enjoyed watching on occasion. Most of them were documentaries on the solar system or on the universe's expansion. But she also admitted to enjoying less enlightening programs, such as West Coast Rap music videos and the mutually beloved _Dream Boat,_ which she indulged with the rest of her family. Lisa knew she could derive joy from television, but she preferred reading books and conducting legitimate scientific research. That's what she told herself this was. Once she revitalized her energy, she could return to her research with a clear mind. Such theories have been researched and confirmed for less intelligent subjects. So what made her any different?

But _Dream Boat_ wasn't on during the afternoon and the only music channel she could find was playing country. The sole Congressional hearing on TV today was more preoccupied with adjusting tariffs on the sugar trade than on funding space travel. And at this point, she wasn't in the mood for documentaries. There were too many to pick from, each filled with whimsical music blasting over the paid commercial Scientist reading worn-out theories in painfully simple language. Most days she could tolerate such watered down research. But not now. Despite the abundance of channels, nothing carried the proper substance for the current context. Ultimately, she sighed in defeat. Who ever thought relaxation could be so draining?

Without a plan, Lisa sat like a lump on a log with the remote just outside her reach. Her eyes glazed over the screen, lazily accepting whatever images it produced. But it wasn't long before Lana huddled in and plopped down beside her.

"Hey Lis," she said cheerfully, "mind if I watch a little somethin'?"

Lisa wasn't in the mood to give long answers. Couldn't Lana tell she was bored out of her mind?

"Sure."

Within seconds, the channel flipped to an animated program. The clock read 5 pm Eastern Daylight Time, indicating that a new block had commenced. Lisa sank into her seat, tacitly accepting whatever content the television produced.

An anthropomorphic rabbit adorning an orange polo found himself sitting at a wooden desk, much like ones found in public schools. On top was a wooden placard reading "Harrison".

"Oh, hi everyone," he said, facing the camera and waving his paw, "today might finally be the first day where something doesn't go horribly wrong."

A wavering "wuh wuh" sound could be heard. Lisa hypothesized that it was a trombone with a mute plugged into the bell. The absence of other instruments seemed to suggest that the noise was diegetic rather than a sampling of background music. Indeed, Harrison's face had transformed from one of visual contentment's to one of absolute dread, as seen by his unreasonably enlarged eyes and frown.

"Oh no! You can't be serious!" He interjected.

The camera panned out to an empty desk on his right. A more diminutive rabbit with obnoxiously large spectacles bounced into the spot. She gently placed her own placard on her new desk. It read "Bernadette".

"Bernadette?!" Harrison exclaimed, "what are _you_ doing here?"

"As the subject of your inquiry, I shall present my explanation regarding my presence in this public institution," she said, smugly reassuring her glasses, "You see, my biological parental units have long since observed an immense, superior, and enlarged prefrontal cortex, which has enabled me to pursue intellectual quandaries and inquiries. Under any other circumstances, I would have been enrolled in a university, however the laws of our animated universe have compelled me into this setting in order to produce humorous results for an external audience's enjoyment, dissatisfaction, and other activities."

Harrison stared blankly at the smaller creature, clearly an indication of ignorance. Lisa deduced that he was not the smartest fellow.

"At the present moment, I am here to perpetuate the universe's orders," Bernadette explained. She knelt down and pulled up a huge tome with thick red covers. As she plopped it on her desk, she stretched up and wiped the front cover clean of dust, "I took the liberty of memorizing the classroom's textbook and shall now recite it for the instructor and pupils."

But before she could approach the front, the trombone broke out again.

"What are you insinuating?" she asked.

More noise could be heard, but little Bernadette barely flinched. Rather, it was Harrison who's jaw dropped while the trombone kept playing. A cacophony Of complaints broke out. Pencils, wads of paper, and rotten tomatoes rained down on poor Harrison.

"Hey! It wasn't me! Stop it!" Harrison cried as he covered his head.

"I cannot comprehend why the pupils in this facility would not appreciate the raising of instructor expectations," Bernadette said to herself. After a moment of observing Harrison suffering, she readjusted her glasses, "On the contrary, it does not appear to be my problem."

Harrison groaned as more waste rained down on him.

Lisa sifted in her seat. This was just boring. Far too simple, depending on people's vices and sloth to derive comedy. Needless to say, Lisa concluded that this entertainment only appealed to young children, such as Lana.

* * *

Here she was, sitting before her old friend. The incomplete equations, the half-baked notes, and the dreaded calculator.

Tapping the pen against the desk, Lisa pondered how to proceed.

Alas, this monotonous rhythm defined her afternoon. Aside from a few minor scribbles, Lisa had yet to find anything new. And now that she thought about it, yesterday followed a similar beat. And sadly, the day before that was little different. Thinking about it threatened to discourage her. What difference would today make? She was just wasting her time.

Lisa shook her head. This thought exercise was simply unacceptable. She prided herself as an achiever, a professional that confronts any challenge despite improbable odds. And to her knowledge, few have accomplished anything of note from the pit of pessimism.

With this refresher, Lisa turned back to the paper. She used her fingers to rub the skin on her forehead as her eyes narrowed on what had been written.

She could solve yet another derivative to find a point of maximum rate of change. But that wouldn't have done much considering she had done that just five steps before. She could run off numbers in the Fibonacci sequence. Sure it was unconventional, but it was worth an attempt.

 _"0, 1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8,"_

Lisa subconsciously grinned. This had to be the start of something magnificent.

 _"13, 21, 34, 55, 89, 144, 233, 377,..."_

Just like that, the momentum was halted. Lisa knew she could have (and must have) been able to compute at least 165 Fibonacci numbers with nothing more than her own brain. She took pride in reciting each digit with impenetrable efficiency. Even Professor Glausman had to pick up the calculator after 15 digits.

Instinctively, her eyes turned to that device. There it was, just sitting there. At this point, could she even pretend the calculator embargo still existed? What started off as one number crunch several days earlier had become several more the next day and several more the day after that. Just yesterday, she depended on that tool to learn the product of 23 and 89! And now, after repeatedly vowing to lock it up for good, it was still sitting on her desk.

It was moments like these where she questioned why she still had one of those things. Of course she knew the answer. That very calculator was a gift from Professor Glausman. She didn't ask for one, but the old professional figured it was only best for an aspiring physicist to have one. How could she reject a token of his appreciation, let alone dispose of it? For the longest time, she pretended it was a composite between a desk ornament and a therapy toy.

But even as her mind told her otherwise, her tiny hand was already grabbing to add 233 and 377. What was she doing, she asked herself. This wasn't what Lisa Loud did. She already had enough freebies. Putting it down became the new objective. Her eyes bored holes into that empty wooden space where the calculator belonged. No. Her fingers didn't need the exercise; the stroke of a pen was the most motion any of those appendages needed.

"610"

Her free hand fell. How shameful was that?! What happened to that laser sharp focus or dogmatic discipline in which she operated? All of these traits were jettisoned in a swift, self-defeating impulse.

As Lisa shifted her glasses up her nose, she thought of her fellow colleagues. Even by his standards, Professor Glausman didn't use a calculator to add two numbers as simple as 233 and 377. They formed a ten! What would he think of her now?

She wanted to act like she could have found it out on her own. Yes, she tried affirming. The calculator was little more than a second observer, intended to reinforce what her mind already deduced. But just as quickly, that fantasy was shot down. She remembered how she felt in that tight moment. It was all too easy to retroactively apply current knowledge and attitudes in starkly incompatible contexts.

Lisa sighed. Analyzing the numbers, she couldn't find any use for them. Fibonacci numbers? What did those have to do with molecular physics? Lisa shuddered, realizing that she was no closer to a definitive conclusion than before. Maybe she would need a second opinion on these matters.

And her eyes fell to the calculator in her hands. And as much as wanted to deny it, perhaps a third would be needed as well.

* * *

Lisa sighed. She loathed coloring more than any other activity. So simple. So bland. So tedious. Such was the fate of kids crammed into kindergarten class.

Every day when she was subjected to such childish activities, her thoughts often turned to the more exciting work at the University. Giving presentations to undergraduates, running tests with the pressure reactor, sharing papers with distinguished colleagues. Unfortunately, that was strictly reserved for Saturdays and Thursday afternoons. For now, Monday mornings were made for coloring.

So much for "social development", as Mom explained to her. If she had it her way, the days separating her trips to the University would have been spent reading up on the latest developments in physics, interspersed with light reading of textbooks she had checked out of the library. But despite holding her doctorate in physics, her parents insisted on enrolling her in public school due to deficits in non-intellectual areas. Not that she disagreed with her parents and not that she hadn't found some elements to enjoy, but the tradeoff was marred with hour after hour of pointless games.

Like this. By now, Lisa had internalized the Ms. Shrinivas's instructions to color within the black printed margins. She certainly understood its purpose; indeed, pupils around her age needed to learn about patience, concentration, and restraint. But even cognizant of this fact, Lisa couldn't help but slouch in her chair. Why did she need to learn about these characteristics when she has already been practicing all three in academia?

"Hi, Lisa."

She lifted her head and the mood shifted. Darcy took her seat beside her with her stuffed giraffe in one hand and her trademark smile on her face. Repeated exposure has established a strong, direct correlation between Darcy's presence and Lisa's oxytocin levels. Immediately, all her irritation melted away, the tension in her body let off, and her internal processes restored to a calm equilibrium.

"Good morning Darcy," Lisa said gently. She took another moment to examine that wonderful face. Regardless of her efforts to remain objective, Lisa felt flustered. Those bright brown eyes, gently groomed black hair, and superbly shaped smile absorbed her in a state of euphoria. She couldn't so much as speak without admiring her friend's overflowing charm, "How have you been?"

Just when she thought it couldn't get any cuter, Darcy cuddled up beside her giraffe.

"Me and Rafo played hide and seek," she said joyfully, "He tried to hide under the bed, but I knew he was there. I put him there!"

Lisa nodded.

"I appreciate how you and Rafo enjoy each other's company. Alas, I am usually too busy to partake in sport or play when I'm home," Lisa responded. It was when she was near Darcy that such a fact morphed into a regrettable reality. In that warm presence, Lisa occasionally wished that it didn't have to be that way. Out of context, that sounded absurd to her, however Darcy always had her means of persuasion (even if she wasn't aware of them).

"Oh. Well do you wanna color with me?" Darcy asked.

Funny how she would ask that. Lisa peered down at her own coloring. Just moments ago, the task depleted her energy in repetitive, simplistic movements. And certainly, neither the print-out outlines of elephants nor the small sticky crayons gave much dignity to such work. But how could she say no to someone like Darcy? Realizing the futility of such a prospect, she nodded.

"A little artistic recreation couldn't hurt," Lisa answered.

Darcy gleamed and turned to her open backpack, sitting on the plastic chair's leg. Her arms dig into it, exploring its contents. Despite her inclinations to work, Lisa watched her friend every second of the way, hoping some sort of answer would materialize. After several seconds, she pulled out a large turquoise rectangular box and plopped it on the table. Darcy's smile widened as she clicked open the cover.

"I got lots and lots of colors," she said cheerfully, showing off the open container. Indeed, it was filled to the brim with crayons, one neatly stacked against the other. Scarcely any space wasn't filled with the wax instruments, "Here! Take some!"

The box nudged to Lisa's side, pushing the paper along with it. Lisa looked down on the rainbow of colors lying before her. It presented an interesting paradox.

Here, she had a vast spectrum to choose from. There were even subtle shades of similar colors, each equipped with its own purpose for representing the visual universe. A creative individual could engineer a masterful tapestry. Perhaps she could create a reimagining _A Sunday Afternoon on the Isle Of La Grand Jatte_ , utilizing every crayon in the box to create a similar pointillist effect. Or maybe she could meld violet, maroon, and cerulean to blend a frighteningly stunning drawing of a nebula. Merit must be granted to creators of such majestic and intellectually-stimulating stimuli.

But these were crayons. And while visual art was certainly a treasure trove of applications of frequency waves and light travel, the mere act of skating the edge of the utensil across a blank sheet of paper contained little educational value other than character development. Whatever coloring could have taught her about concentration was taken up from other, more challenging pursuits. She should have been using her schooling to further these goals, to achieve similar benefits from it that average students receive (the rigor of the content notwithstanding).

Lisa was forced into a state of inaction, unable to decide which course was best. She eyed the crayons, wondering what to do. The longer she just sat here, the less time she would have to be with Darcy, but that knowledge only complicated the issue. Lisa turned to Darcy, gazing at that beautiful face. How could she say no to it? Without further thought, she snatched a verdant crayon.

"So, uh, Darcy," Lisa said, fiddling with the instrument, focusing on it, "what do you prefer to color?"

"All kinds of things," she answered, "puppies, Cookie Monster, hearts. I even draw Rafo next to me!"

Curious, Lisa peered over at Darcy's paper. Already with five crayons by her side, she was well on her way to her next creation. There was nothing sophisticated about any of it, whether in content or style. A purple puppy was just a purple puppy for Darcy. But even with that, she moved on without a care in the world.

Even with everything on her mind, Lisa pondered how she herself could approach the activity just like Darcy. Well, just from observation, Lisa noted the lack of tension in her friend's arms and hands. The facial muscles responsible for smiling appeared to have a stretched default state. The fluids and muscles that maintain the eyes are in regular function. From this, Lisa concluded that Darcy was relaxing.

Now, it was her turn to mirror this reflection. Lisa tried clearing her mind. She was now one with the room, her hand melded into the utensil, and the world centered on that blank sheet. Her ears filled with the sound of her classmates playing and objects shifting en masse. Somehow, that was all she could experience. At last, her mind was clear.

 _"Excellent,"_ Lisa thought to herself, _"This must be how Einstein developed-"_

But then it hit her. She wasn't supposed to think. Now, her head was filled with recollections on relativity and acknowledgement of what she was perceiving. This wasn't how Darcy went through life. She was supposed to just let things happen. But how? It was impossible to not think.

Her eyes turned to her friend.

"How is the artistic recreation exercise going, Darcy?" Lisa asked.

Darcy's face lit up as she proudly held up her drawing. By then, she had made more than just a purple puppy in the bottom right corner. Opposite to it was a yellow recreation of Rafo. Pink and blue streamers ran along the side margins and across the top. And right in the middle were two humanoid blobs. The one on the left used a turquoise crayon, the same shade as Darcy's shirt while the one of the right used a dark, mossy green. The large round spectacles on the latter revealed Darcy's intention.

"I made us holding hands!" Darcy said cheerfully.

Lisa couldn't help but smile. So this was what coloring could produce. All she needed to do was tap into what she felt rather than what she thought.

There was much to be said on that front. Lisa felt frustration, confusion, disappointment. She took a breath. She then remembered she also felt tranquility and bliss. Lisa knew she was more than a one-operation machine, but a human being. And while humans were flawed creatures, such an existence was also filled with unexpected pleasures, Darcy being one of them.

Taking the crayon, she began scribbling something down. The crayon left a green trace across the blank white paper, filling up with whatever creative whim came from her heart.

Whoever thought feeling could be such a good thing? After all this time of thinking, of worrying about failure, something as basic as joy could suppress all of it and create something spontaneous.

Now wasn't the time to think about anything. All thinking would do is big her down, force her into an endless cycle of beratement and anger. Lisa needed another break and she was going to get it.

Eventually, she put down the utensil and gazed at what she created. A sloppy, crude drawing of her and Darcy. It wasn't much. Her glasses looked more like ink splits than a tool for optical enhancement. Her attempt to draw fingers on their hands produced incomprehensible Turkey-like things. Even with most of the body parts out of proportion, Lisa told herself not to complain too much. She was on a break. She needed to relax.

"Aww," she heard Darcy said.

Turning over, she saw Darcy appreciating her work. What did Lisa do to deserve a smile that precious?

"Come here, you," Darcy added.

Before she knew it, Lisa was enveloped in a tender lock. She felt her heart flutter like she seldom felt it before. Only her family and Darcy were capable of eliciting such strong feelings out of her. The deep, hot feeling seared at her interior, nearly frightening her. Yet despite the overwhelming force such love inflicted on her, Lisa never stayed mad at the person causing it.

In a strange way, it felt nice to be cared for. It had the power to erase those long, bitter episodes of uncertainty and weakness. For the first time in a week, Lisa felt alive. She wished that feeling would never go away, leaving her defenseless in the endless sea of calculations and inconclusive findings.

Now empowered, Lisa wrapped her own arms around Darcy and tightened her own hug. Even if such moments were fleeting, she told herself that the pursuit could wait.


	4. Where Things are Proven

If there was anything Lisa could be thankful for, it was that this cursed independent project wasn't the only item on her agenda. With a Physics Department full of distinguished scholars, it was only natural that their pursuits took them each in different directions. And as a young assistant willing to sink her hands in all the research, Lisa had more intellectual means of escape.

As usual, her Mom had dropped her off at the University. After waving her farewell, Lisa eased her way into the large natural science building. It was the same physical structure she had entered last week and all the other preceding times. Still, Lisa couldn't help but gaze up at the tall glass panes comprising most of the exterior. Lisa believed that the architectural feature represented the University's commitment to transparency in science's laws and the means by which they can be examined. Not that it mattered that few outside the field took the time to really scrutinize their work, but it was a comforting thought.

This was her lot in life. To go in and do work correctly. No more stories were going to mess with her ability to accomplish such simple goals.

Lisa easily sailed through the normal registration; she swiped her University-issued card and signed into the electronic log in the lobby (which, she might add, had a spotless floor this morning). The last essential barrier was a metal door at the end of the hall directly behind the lobby, which a simple card swipe opened up.

"Salutations, colleagues," Lisa said as she breezes through the door.

Sure enough, all of the professors and researchers were huddled around a table in the corner. Her verbal cue shifted all of their faces towards her.

"Good morning, Lisa," Glausman said with a wrinkled grin.

"What procedure shall we be conducting today?" she asked.

"Styles believes he's ready to test his teleportation hypothesis."

Of course. Professor Tyler Styles had that young, unbridled aura of energy and ambition. With his jet black hair and sharp jaw, the recent PhD was quick on his feet, fighting to push boundaries. After Lisa, he was considerably younger than the rest of the room. And now, having heard his name, perked his chin up.

"That's right," he said suavely with one hand in his pocket, "I think I finally have what it takes to transport something as simple as, Oh I dunno, an apple from here," he pointed to the ground, "to the other side of the room."

Glausman chuckled.

"Let's see if your numbers add up this time," he said, placing his hand on Styles's shoulder.

"It's like you always say," Styles said confidently, "it all comes slowly. But that was a while back."

"A while is relative."

Lisa deliberately lowered her head and pinched her nose. Sometimes, she just couldn't stand that hothead. Even when she proposed radical ideas, she didn't present them with such unbridled arrogance. It was that temperament that made her question Styles's intellectual purity, that was whether he was truly in it for the science alone.

But just as quickly, her own mind snapped awake. Her eyes widened in a way she never thought they would when thinking of Styles.

Sure, it was a radical hypothesis. It was out there, highly unlikely, and she nodded with Glausman at his criticisms. Lisa had every reason to doubt that teleportation could be demonstrated today, with this small faculty, in this archaic laboratory.

But deep inside, a voice told her that nothing that wasn't worth testing. That's why she was here. Her skills had value. Styles was going to test her scientific prowess, to determine whether even a proposition this bizarre could be materialized. The how rested in the procedure, but she told herself she could easily find a way regardless. Her sole duty was to be efficient. Glausman didn't have time for stragglers.

She tried to shake it off. This was the same thinking that led her to that absurd rough draft. Science could never be rushed, no matter what. But on the other hand, she wasn't getting any younger. Lisa knew this whole week had been a stale, unproductive period of sloth. Surely, she would have made some progress by now. That's how it was as long as she could remember. She wouldn't let go of that commitment to progress. She simply couldn't.

"Well, what are we waiting for?" Lisa quipped. The whole room turned to her, even Styles. Seeing the crew of reassuring faces, Lisa felt her metaphorical "spine" bolden with confidence, "Let's get to work."

"Agreed," Styles replied.

He swiped several stacks of paper from the table and distributed them among the professionals in the room. Lisa approached the group and grabbed her own packet. As usual, she read through the procedure one step at a time.

 _"This procedure utilizes the Teleportation Device, which consists of two titanium platforms cemented into the floor. Attached to the device is a complex array of electrical wiring"_

Lifting her eyes from the sheet, Lisa turned to a window facing the adjacent room. Hoping onto a chair, she noticed the very device outlined in the procedure. She had seen Styles working on that apparatus for weeks, accumulating tens of thousands of dollars in expenditures from the University. Even she couldn't help but sigh. It would have been easier to get an external research grant approved. And if he weren't so accomplished, no one would have approved such a grandiose project for such a smug scientist. But now wasn't the time to complain too much. She had a job to do.

"Did you bring any preliminary research, Styles?" Glausman asked as the group shuffled into the adjacent room.

"Affirmative," Styles shot back as the printed packet soared in the air.

Even trapped in the clump of adult bodies, Lisa peered up at the papers hanging in the air, shone under the fluorescent lights. Her gaze narrowed in on the sheet. All the answers, thoughts, predictions, calculations were snugged between those pages. Even putting aside the fact that she had made one of her own, something about their physical appearance captivated her. There was certainty in the permanently printed typeface letters and numbers. There was confidence in how someone like Styles could staple the pages together.

"May I examine your work?" Lisa asked, extending her tiny arm.

By then, the group had spread out in the larger room. Styles was by her side, looking down at her. His bold face and self-assuring eyes did all the communication.

"Why certainly," he answered, lowering the manuscript down to her level. Lisa noticed how it appeared much bigger as it entered her hands.

There it was: all of Styles's supposed genius. His ambition emanated from the page, though it differed little from that of other professionals (neurosurgeons came to mind).

"Let us proceed," Styles declared.

Lisa peeked through the sheets, automatically moving her legs to follow the moving room of scientists.

"The device requires a solution of standard hydrogen electrode. It's to go straight into the fueling tank," she heard Styles say.

"I've got it right here," Glausman answered.

"Excellent! I shall now insert 50 milliliters."

As it turned out, reading while standing could be quite the challenge. Lisa's legs suddenly grew sore. She sat down, desperately hoping that could make her concentrate. But her brain felt weary, burnt out.

No. That simply couldn't do. Not now. Not ever.

From the stool she situated herself, Lisa knelt on the hard metal top and planted both her palms on the cold table while her eyes bore holes at the packet's contents.

"What are you doing?" she heard Glausman say.

"The particle disintegrator needs recalibration. But I can't do that when the entire device is hooked up to such a pedestrian outlet," Styles responded, "it needs a source more potent. We need to tap into the building's generator."

"I thought you had this all figured out."

"My apologies, Professor Glausman. But I can't test this out ahead of time. In addition, simple calculations cannot account for all the electricity this building wastes on other projects."

A pause.

"Very well," Glausman said flatly.

Trying her best to tune out the background noise, Lisa squinted her eyes and tried hammering it down. For whatever reason, none of the mathematics could be retained. At several points, she even lost track of where she was on the page. She knew that derivatives set to zero could determine either a maximum or minimum rate of change, but it often took her more than ten seconds to comprehend whether the subsequent equations were second derivatives or the start of a new set.

And above all, Lisa kept asking herself how this math related to Teleportation. How was it being proven? Even while knowing the equations corresponding to rate of change, Lisa couldn't help but get lost in the sea of numbers. The endless pages of archaic numbers and variables started melding into each other. What was happening, Lisa asked herself.

"Lisa," she heard Glausman say. Her head snapped to attention, "could you set up the computer?"

"Of course," she said mechanically.

Snatching the packet, Lisa hopped down and made her way across the room. Along the way, her eyes turned to the two large platforms. To think that such strange numbers with a seemingly arbitrary arrangement could be equated with a mass so solid baffled her. She felt like she could make the connection. If only she was in the correct mood.

Once on the opposite side of the room, she climbed up the appropriate stool and faced the desktop screen. Lisa tapped the mouse several times with one hand while using the other to drum her fingers on the table. She watched as the screen kicked to life. Her ears hummed as she heard the hard drive whirl into motion.

At one point, she got to the balls of her feet to look over the monitor. It was a Herculean feat, but she did it from the stool. Watching over the whole lab and her colleagues made her think of that prototypical laboratory image. It was almost like the one they experimented Algernon the mouse in. The major difference, of course, was that the computers and electronics at use weren't nearly as sophisticated in the 1960s as they are now. They didn't know better at that time. Their experiment was bound to fail!

Feeling her toes start to ache, Lisa plopped down. More heavily than she should. The stool underneath shook from the shock. Lisa had to clamp both her hands to the edge of the table just to stabilize her ground, which luckily occurred.

"Are you alright, Lisa?" Glausman asked.

"Uh, yeah," Lisa answered.

What just happened? Lisa knew better than to just plop down like that. Only now did she remember occasions of her and others complaining about that very stool being unlevel. And now, looking up, she realized that her risk was completely unnecessary. Given the lack of space surrounding the monitor, she could have just looked around. What convinced her so wholly to take this course of action?

Lisa shook her head. That story was just getting in her head again, that one piece of literature she shifted through just to give her elder sister a decent grade. She even went out of her way to discredit its relevance. It was time to reprioritze her thoughts.

By now, the computer was booted up and ready to go. Lisa opened to the built-in data analysis program and turned to her written procedure. The sheet outlined a specific set of parameters to properly, which wasn't too difficult to implement.

Now was the waiting. Styles still insisted on insuring everything was perfect before the procedure could commence. At this point, Lisa had done all she had been assigned to. And despite her efforts to ask for more, Styles simply wasn't inclined to grant it. As she stood there, watching the professionals shift through papers, hook up wiring, and communicate amongst each other, she found her legs growing weary. She needed to sit down.

Lowering herself onto the stool's flat top, Lisa took the time to continue reading the calculations. Maybe she could get back on track. Maybe this mental block would finally be lifted. Lisa narrowed her eyes so completely, that she only allowed herself to see one line of numbers at a time. No distractions, no extraneous information. Just her and the hard numbers.

But the longer she looked at it, the more her mind wandered elsewhere. Now she thought about Algernon and how that pesky rodent used his newly acquired intelligence to race through the maze. To think him on the ground could outpace Charlie, who had the advantage of seeing the whole configuration from above. Of course, that was before Charlie got the operation. It was also before...

"Lisa, are you ready?"

She snapped to attention.

"Yes."

Well, it was worth a shot. All she hoped for now was that she would have a chance at some point to understand. It was only a shame she would now have to read the procedure while it's happening. She jumped to the feet and peered around her computer screen.

Styles proudly paced between the platforms with a small unit block between his fingers.

"I will now administer the transport of a small, uniform object," he said.

Snapping around he planted it on the platform. His body merely hung in that position, wishing that others would see that it was he doing the vital work. Then after slowly raising his body from that position, the real performance commenced.

"Lisa, could you hit the start button on the program?" Styles asked, cupping one of his hands around the rim of his lips.

Without speaking, she clicked on the digital button. Immediately, the zeros on the screen began their fluctuation throughout multiple decimal places. While the machine had yet to begin its operation, the sensors were already detecting subtle changes in particle mass on the platform, little gusts of air, even imperfections in the so-called "uniform" mass. As much as she wanted to witness teleportation in action, Lisa understood that her value lied in this activity. Watching the screen was the least she could do to get on track.

"Alright, here we go," Styles said.

The two platforms revved up their operations. Lights flaring on, generators igniting, cooling units flurrying, and chatter amongst the professionals filled the room with a proper industrious air which flowed into Lisa's ears.

Several seconds later, her the corners of her eyes picked up a magnificent white light. Even with her vision focused squarely on the changing screen, her eyes stung, forcing her to blink compulsively. For those crucial moments, the black digits on the screen suddenly appeared red and blue and purple and yellow. She thought that the decimal place shifted several spots to her right, but how was she to know?

"The trial is a success!"

Rubbing her sore eyes, Lisa peered up at Styles. She could hardly believe it. The uniform block mass was now in the other platform. That had to tell her something. The calculations buried in that packet (the ones she struggled to understand) could produce a material result. And now Styles, despite his haughtiness, had actions behind his boastful remarks.

Looking around, a few of the other physicists shared her awe. In none of their years in the field had they ever seen anything so remarkable. Even Glausman, muted as he was, inched his cheeks back. The young upstart had done it.

"Well I must give credit where credit is due," Glausman declared, "you are off to a decent start."

Styles swung around and locked eyes with the sage-like being.

"Well, just wait until the next trial," he replied.

He rushed to the table and revealed a black fedora.

"I will now proceed with a non-uniform object."

The article was slowly lowered onto to the platform. As Lisa watched, she wondered if it could be done. After all, a simple square block had a straightforward structure and its parts can easily be reassembled. But the fedora couldn't even be considered evenly distributed (it had a feather on one side but not the other). Surely, there was no way Styles had this process perfected.

And if someone like Styles had this perfected at this stage, where did that leave her? Certainly, he hadn't taken years to get to this point. In fact, it took no more than a few months. Lisa's heart tinged as she imagined her own time limit widdling down. Before long, she would be considered such terrible labels as "lazy", "incompetent". Dare she even say, "naive".

Lisa didn't want to see discovery be stalled. Regardless of her petty feelings, she always tried to tell herself that innovation and progress were the prime purpose of humanity. Who was she to build a needless hurdle in that endless march forward (that movement she desperately wanted a part in)? But a voice in the back of her mind spoke to her. Maybe if this one failed and if Styles realized that even he needed more time to perfect his work, that the state of her own project would be validated.

Her eyes briefly turned to the observant Glausman. Lisa told herself that he was honest with her in the office. Everyone needed time to perfect their work, from hotheads like Styles to babies such as herself.

"And now, we shall conduct the test," Styles declared.

Nodding, Lisa reset the program and refreshed it in anticipation of the new data. With one eye on the monitor and the other on the platforms, Lisa acknowledged her own breathing, Feeling each inhale and exhale as if they were seismic shifts in the Earth shook her legs.

After thirty seconds of fiddling with the machine, Styles stood back, bewildered. The others in the room turned to each other while the inventor clamped one hand to his side and the other under his chin.

"Clearly, the machine needs further recalibration," he said.

Further recalibration. Was that an activity in her department? Surely, she had been entrusted to data collection, making her the only other person with any real responsibility. After all, the professionals had relegated themselves to adjudicators rather than active participants. They were testing Styles, or at least that's what she had thought. Now, she was being told she herself was a subject in all of this. Such a position could be the only possibility after her previous slipup.

Besides, Lisa told herself she had a solution.

"I believe I know the answer," Lisa announced.

Just like that, every set of eyes in the room turned squarely to her. The flutter in her heart was no new feeling. Despite her confidence in her own abilities, Lisa knew she wasn't above petty human emotions; her rollercoaster over this past week should have been enough of an indication. If this were a detached moment, she might have asked why this sensation was more emphatic than usual. But context filled in all the clues. The lab, those eyes, that cursed mouse.

"It's simply a matter of wiring," Lisa said. She hoped her voice sounded confident enough, or at least more confident than her mind. Now, having barely thought through the problem (or the manual), she hopped down from the stool and approached the machine.

"Professor Glausman," Styles interjected, "surely the experiment must be completed solely by the primary scientist in the room."

"That's true, but the results are more important, Professor Styles," he said flatly.

Exactly, Lisa thought to herself. Who cares about silly little emotions anyway? All anyone cares about is results? It doesn't matter if you're four years old or had a bad day. She knew she needed to deliver.

Luckily, there was an open hatch on the side of one of the platforms. Her little hands clutched the thick wires and finagled with them, twisting them around, moving them to detect an open gap, an outlet of sorts.

"What are you doing, Lisa?! You need rubber gloves," Styles said, approaching her, "you are not prepared to handle this."

"I haven't touched a socket yet. I'm just moving around the wires."

"Lisa," she heard Glausman say.

Her reluctant eyes turned to her mentor. She was hoping to find encouragement or frustration. Either extreme would have been a strong indication of her actions, whether a soft nudge or firm denouncement. Instead, the answer wasn't so clear. Lisa noticed his jawline more pronounced than usual, resembling mild disappointment more than condemnation. But those old, watchful eyes struck a far more painful chord. Even from several feet away, Lisa's heart stung just seeing the sorrow, the concern, and the unpalatable pity.

Deepening her resolve, Lisa jerked back to the hatch and continued working.

"I don't need protection," she said firmly as her hands tightened on the wires, "this is a simple operation, just a simple reworking."

"Lisa, it's dangerous," Glausman said, raising his voice. Her body shuddered and her gripped loosened hearing that powerful voice lose some of its tranquility. But she persisted anyway. Eyeing a socket, she yanked it out.

Several seconds, the cooling units stopped. No worries, she thought. All she had to do was move this wire over there, maybe build new connections, and start it up again. Then, it would be able to teleport anything and everything. What did Styles know anyway, she thought. It took him nearly thirty years of life to learn about this. Besides, he needed a little humility. Sure, he got one object to teleport, but this was still a team effort.

"N-now Lisa," she heard Styles say, "stand back. I am the one with rubber gloves, after all."

No, Lisa told herself. He had his victory, his reason to gloat. She never had time for all those arrogant tics he flaunted around. For once, she needed something to be proud of. If she was going to lose everything that made her worthwhile, she deserved a break. That's what drove her hands deeper into the wiring.

"Lisa, stop!"

Why now? She was so close to solving the problem. Just one more move. Jam the red wire into the open socket and the machine would be up and running. Without even looking, she pressed it towards the back of the internal panel, only to be met with solid metal resistance.

Her nervous eyes only got a narrow outline of the circuitry before she was lifted away. Lisa squirmed, trying to break free from the aging, coated arms wrapping her body. But despite kicking her legs in midair, Glausman hauled her away.

"Professor," she said, trying to catch her breath, "I-I can do it! I have to do it!"

"You need a time out," he answered.

Her eyes widened. Her little fingers sunk deep into the coated arms, trying to bear with those two dreaded words.

"I'm fine, Professor! I'm a good girl! I-I...I just need-"

"Relax, Lisa," he said. The fact that his voice returned to that low calmness didn't help matter, "just take a seat and watch the rest of the procedure."

As she was lowered into the "high" chair, Lisa could only watch as Professor Andrews took the helm at the computer. Within seconds, Styles had reset the device to its normal setting. For once, the sound of cooling units terrified Lisa.

Her hands snuck on the chair's round metal rim and gripped it. Was this real? How could she descend so low? She caught a glimpse at Charlie and his messy grammar. Those words and their cringe-inducing spelling seared in her brain while waves of anger rippled about. Why did Styles have to win the day with that attitude? Lisa had the superior temperament.

"Just take a deep breath in."

She turned to see Professor Kelly Weston beside her. With a soft smile on her face, she brought her immaculate hands to her chest and inhaled through her nose. Lisa could have sworn she heard her utter the words "In" and "Out".

At least Charlie was an adult, she thought.


	5. Ignorance is Bliss

Not even Lisa was immune from expressing embarrassment.

With her glasses resting on the desk, she compulsively rubbed her eyes, not even caring about the blurry vision enveloping her. All she could ask was what happened? What neurological component had malfunctioned? What knowledge did she foolishly forget?

Even she knew better than to grab industrial wires without rubber gloves. Even she knew that she shouldn't have just disconnected any old circuit. And even she should have known better than to engage herself so thoroughly in an experiment she had barely read. Lisa sighed thinking about that computer. It was both a scientific tool and a technological babysitter.

From her desk, she thought about it, reliving every embarrassing second of that morning while letting that Styles character get to her head. She rocked back and forth, clutching the edge of the desk to pull herself back in. Through it all, Lisa thought the rhythm could make her forget those events like she seemed to for the content that really mattered.

But as time passed, she came to one disappointing conclusion. This wasn't working. As desperately as she tried working it out by herself, Lisa was confronted with the fact that talking with oneself failed to replace the old adage of letting it out.

She sighed. Conversations with herself would have to stop, along with whatever forms of self-therapy. But as she sat there, frozen in her seat, she wondered who she should turn to.

"Poo poo."

Lisa slowly rotated within her seat, seeing her baby sister watching her with heavy eyes from the crib. Lisa's face lightened up as she hopped down from her chair, but soon enough, the weight of her memories caught up to her. Her bespectacled eyes lowered to the carpet while her feet nudged closer to the crib. Despite the lack of tension in her throat, a part of her couldn't believe she was about to open up.

"I don't know, Lily," Lisa said once she stopped, "I'm trying to put all of this together into one coherent explanation. The most probable is that I lost my patience, but that doesn't explain why that occurred?"

Unable to stay still, she paced alongside the crib, extending her arms out. Lisa tried to tell herself this unconscious gesture was a representation of her current mental state.

"I mean, I know you're a baby if average intelligence, so you wouldn't know."

"Poo poo!"

Lily banged her hand on the crib, her little face burning up. Lisa was taken aback.

" _Above_ average, I see," she said. After taking a moment to process her sister's investment, Lisa readjusted her glasses and continued pacing, "But I was just so...inadequate during the procedure. Here I was, thinking that my slow progress on this project was natural, that I would figure it out with time."

Memories of the day flooded her head. Seeing Styles's smug face, the moment when the uniform block and the fedora ended up on the other platform, all interlaced with the sound of Glausman's booming voice brought her to a halt. Lisa squeezed her palms. She yearned to regulate her emotions, to not let unanalyzed stimuli overwhelm her. For guidance, Lisa turned to the window above the crib, where the blue sky was still visible.

"But once I saw how well Styles did with his project, I suddenly felt like I was behind," she said reluctantly. She tried her best to keep that sky in her line of vision. The last thing she wanted was for Lily to enter the picture. Lisa told herself she needed a sounding board, not a sad face staring her down, "And a visceral reaction ignited in my psyche. I-I was compelled to act. If I didn't prove my worth right then and there, then I wasn't ever gonna amount to anything. I know the logic is flawed, but logic becomes secondary when emotions conquer cognitive processing."

She sighed. By then, her one wish had been dashed. Lily inched her way to her and placed her tiny palm on Lisa's hands. The soft comfort she got from the contact did little to quell the endless remembering.

"I don't know what should be done," Lisa said softly, trying to avert her eyes once again. Her new target was an adjacent way. With its position, there was little chance Lily could enter her periphery, "Can I even face Professor Glausman again? What would he think of me now?"

Lisa still felt nauseous motion in her interior organs. All she could see was her mentor's face during the procedure, silently watching Styles successfully complete his procedure. Despite his flourishes and overdramatic bow at the end, he still won the acceptance of his peers. Not wanting to hear any more, she left before facing whatever Glausman had for her.

Looking back, that was a misjudgment. Sure, she could send a correspondence through electronic mail or cellular phone (she did have Glausman's contact information on both media).

But what would be communicated sent that possibility out of the question. If she asked too many questions about her performance, Glausman might inquire about her dreaded emotional state. For someone at her age and stage in life, Lisa couldn't afford to sow any more doubt than she already had. The message would need to be more subtle and indirect, but what pretext does she have to initiate the conversation?

Maybe she wanted a followup report with the procedure, even though she wasn't being evaluated. Maybe she had a "research question", whatever that meant. Or maybe she wanted to inquire about his state of mind, ask how his day was going. But through all the excuses she concocted, Lisa concluded that Glausman would see through her diversions and ask about the true purpose of her sudden message.

Her head fell. She felt that only she could grapple with what was facing her. For a moment, Lisa felt the darkness shrouding the path ahead. Can this be considered temporary? What can be done to rectify the matter?

Shaking her head, Lisa snapped back to reality. No, she told herself. This really was temporary and she was going to resolve it. Turning to the desk, Lisa thought about her accumulation of research thus far. She had to work. This was her last chance, after all.

"I must resume!" She declared as she raced to her chair.

Having not looked at the numbers all day, the paper quickly refreshed her mind. This wasn't too bad, she told herself. All she had to do was write. And knowing she had something (anything) written down was all her little heart needed to get started.

Once she finished, who knew what could be done. She could even develop a way to surgically increase her intelligence. It sounded like a funny thought, but Lisa recently discovered that anything was possible. Anyone and any thing could go in any direction. And that's what she told herself.

She would do this.

* * *

Knocking. Successive pounding rippled the serene darkness surrounding her. Why couldn't this peace last? For once, Lisa wanted to ignore what she could observe. Maybe then, she would cease hearing it. How calming isolation was to her.

But it couldn't last. Shapeless knocks gave way to blinding light searing the mirage until her eyes opened.

"It's time to eat, silly!"

Lisa registered the lisp-filled voice as she rubbed her eyes. All she could ask was why Luan. Of all people, what made her so intrusive as to disrupt her "power nap"? Even after lowering her hands, she noticed her elder sister giving her an overly saccharine smile.

"Aw, is Wittle Wisa tired?" she said, clasping her palms together.

Lisa shuddered. How dare Luan (or anyone) talk to her like that.

"I don't need to _carry_ you to show my love," she added before giggling.

Lisa frowned and clenched her fists. That annoying, ear-grating laugh her older sister whipped out every time she attempted comedy. Doesn't Luan know that strange voices and wordplay are ineffective means of communicating with her? But that didn't stop foolish Luan from hoisting her through the axilla and into the chest. Lisa sighed. Looks like the lecture will have to wait for another time.

"You're gonna love tonight's Lynn-sagna," Luan said as she carried her down the stairs, "it'll make you hate Mondays a little less."

Now appeared a good time to tune out of her sister's unsuccessful attempts at comedy. It wasn't even Monday, Lisa noted. And besides, maybe if she didn't pay attention, she wouldn't have to internalize any more offensive gestures. It was already bad enough she had to put up with this back and forth cradling, the upward view of the stairs over Luan's shoulder, or the stench of her new perfume.

But the others quickly ravaged whatever zen she had built for herself once in the kitchen. As Luan nudged her to face forward, Lisa was stunned to see everyone staring at her. Their eyes bluged with that disgustingly sweet gloss. Lisa fidgeted, trying to burrow into Luan's body to escape.

"Put me down," she demanded.

"Looks like she's finally woken up," Luan added.

Rather than acknowledge her, Lisa scurried to her seat. She bounced to the seat in a single bound, getting up to everyone else's level. Even Lily was already seated, causing further questions. At what point did Lily leave? Who saw her doze off? But now, that was besides the point. Getting to her chair without help was an improvement, she told herself.

"Dig in!" Lynn Sr announced.

Of course, now for the main purpose of this interruption. Her eyes turned to her older siblings fighting for the spatula and the tray, resting in the middle. Nothing about its texture or aroma suggested that the culinary creation was superior to similar incarnations. Nothing to rush for, she guessed. Resigned, Lisa slumped into her chair with her arms folded.

Her bespectacled eyes wandered across the room. First at Lily, then the ceiling, then the tablecloth. On the whole, the environment lacked anything of interest. Her mind craves for activity, anything that would break this bland monotony. Maybe she could break past the block she had been doing in her research. Maybe she could make things right with Professor Glausman. Maybe she could even find happiness again.

"Aww, you look so cute!"

Leni sat directly to her right. Even with the meal in progress, why did she have to turn her attention to her? Couldn't Leni just leave her alone? But no. Her elder sister have to give that embarrassing wide smile, that terribly dead on stare, and those encroaching arms. And unlike Luan, she wasn't trying to be funny.

"Don't worry," Leni said, her voice deliberately high-pitched, "I'll feed you."

"No," Lisa said, "Please don't hold me."

That got the arms to stop in their place. After all she has been through, Lisa refused to sit on anyone's lap or, dare she think of, spoonfeeding her. Lisa was a big girl. She was old enough to take care of herself.

"Oh," Leni said slowly, inching back to her space, "okay."

Now that the issue was resolved, Lisa felt compelled to collect her own portion. Given how the others have already done the same, this task requires little difficulty. Indeed, a thick, hefty slice stood proudly on her plate.

She examined each component of the meal. Three slices of American cheese, along with two sections of meat. The compelling aroma tickled her nose, though she was in no rush to devour the Lynn-sagna. Her digestive system's transmissions regarding hunger lacked force. Instead, her small limbs felt a heaviness, making it hard to move. Perhaps this was a consequence of her midday slumber.

"Lisa, is everything alright?" Rita asked, leaning in her seat to look at her.

Great. Now she has others on her case. Why couldn't they just leave her alone, Lisa pondered. Her mind performed optimally when it lacked distractions. All she wanted to do was think, to process her environment independently. Was that too much to ask?

"Yes," she replied.

"Do you need me to pass you anything? Bread rolls? Butter? Pepper?"

Lisa sighed.

"No."

Maybe taking a bite would prove her point. Reluctantly, Lisa lifted her fork and cut off a small portion of the Lynn-sagna. Between the tangy sauce and the sweet cheese, the taste eased her jaw, her tongue, her cheeks. How could any form of stimulation so completely envelop her perception? For a few measly moments, the answer didn't matter. She chewed slowly and thoroughly, like a mouse.

Once she swallowed the piece and got used to the aftertaste simmering in her mouth, Lisa had the chance to reflect. She gazed down at the remaining meal and her eyes grew heavy. What just happened, she asked.

Clearly, her enjoyment was purely emotional, rooted in an influx of neurotransmitters, whose influence can override certain cognitive capabilities. But why her? She must have had Lynn-sagna at least once a week over the past two years. Why is she now overcome with euphoria over that same taste? What made this meal different?

Certainly, it wasn't the way it was prepared. Upon inspection, Lisa didn't see any new ingredients and surely, the kitchen would be equipped with the same brand of cheese, sauces, and cheese. By all accounts, she should have been accustomed to the taste by now, rendering it as inconsequential as the sensation of air entering her nostrils.

Lisa sighed. It appeared her nap failed to provide any relief. She was lucky that no one else questioned her for the remainder of the meal. But at the same time, the same memories clouded her mind. Glausman's voice rang in her head while images of dropping vital materials superimposed the Lynn-sagna. And it was those very thoughts that compelled her to take another bite. The powerful taste overwhelmed her tongue.

Maybe if she kept eating, she could go back to forgetting. Usually, such a vice was met with scorn. Why was anything worth erasing from her perfect mind? Lisa herself had seen far too many instances of her siblings and colleagues failing to draw up a fact they had learned in school, on television, from each other. Retention had always been key.

But now, it was all about feeling. She needed to feel something, anything other than this pit of despair and regret. And while taste was far from the most commonly utilized sense, it would have to do for now.

Unfortunately, the law of space meant that her ability to stimulate herself was brief. Before she knew it, the meal was gone. And also by the law of space, her stomach reminded her of the fast influx of food with a groan-inducing pain. Alas, nothing could ever be truly destroyed. But until the molecules worked past the digestive tract, Lisa was forced to clamp her lower abdomen as she belched down from her chair (by then, most of the others had done the same).

"Lisa, are you alright?"

She shuddered. Now Rita was curious. As her eyes darted between her plate and the adjacent walls in the doorway, Lisa contemplated how to phrase her response. Of course, it helped that she didn't have to look Rita in the eye, given her positioning away from her. But at this point, all she really wanted was to get back to her sanctuary. Maybe she could write just one more equation down or better yet, fall asleep.

"Yes, Mother," Lisa said, "I am merely lethargic."

"Did you need my help with anything?"

"No."

Lisa proceeded walking. Hopefully, if she moved quickly and with purpose, she could communicate her intention to end the conversation. After all, her parents have been her primary instructors in social skills, so this must have been a lesson they were planning to teach her in the future. They would be proud, she thought.

"Are you sure?"

She commanded her legs to keep moving. Ignore the question. Keep pressing forward. Luckily, the kitchen sink had a step stool in front, making the movement of the plate seamless. She bounced up the steps and plopped the plate in, not minding the clatter it made as it fell in.

"Lisa?"

She tightened her fists. Why couldn't Rita get the message? But shouting would have made matters worse. The firm grip under which she clenched her phalanges were the best opportunity to wring out her frustration.

"I am sure," Lisa said curtly.

It didn't matter that Rita had nothing more to say. Honestly, Lisa seriously considered ignoring her if anyone dared to interact with her. She didn't have time for such activity. Socializing in general was a great physical feat, constantly balancing knowledge of clear-cut rules with having to uphold a certain image. But with all this pent up imagery of the report, of the gnawing doubts in her, Lisa wasn't interested in throwing herself in the fray. Once inside, there was no way out.

So she kept moving. Her mind wrapped around the possibility of hearing her mother's voice again. How would she react? Would she pretend she didn't hear it? The scenario pours out in her head and processed the different outcomes.

But the pivotal moment never arrived. Lisa was free to scurry to her room without delay. Relief spread across her body like light on matter. The very thought of getting through this titanic struggle kindled her with a small batch of hope.

Once in her room, she proudly clicked the door shut. Barring the moment of carrying Lily in, Lisa was what people on the street called "home free". It felt good, at least at first. No one to bother her, no one she had to answer to. Just herself. Suddenly, the bedroom appeared larger. Of course, there hasn't been construction. But Lisa didn't mind that fact. Letting the emotion sink it rejuvenated her.

Yes. This very well would have sparked the end of this spell after all.

An electronic bell-like sound effect buzzed on her computer. She turned to it. Sure enough, it was an email notification. Just what she needed, Lisa thought reluctantly.

Inching her way towards the monitor, Lisa pondered what the message could be. Who would be up messaging her at this hour? Sure, she fell asleep. But that was only human. Sometimes, even four year old bodies needed some midday REM slumber. With her shaky hand on the mouse, she tensely clicked on the message, causing it to expand on the screen.

 _"Dear Lisa,_

 _Although I'm a man of science, I'm also a mentor towards my pupils. Your uncharacteristic behavior today leaves me concerned about your well-being. I know you're reserved and prefer business over personal matters, but I think you need some time to yourself to work through your feelings._

 _I know it's difficult for you, given how you wish to disregard matters such as your age and non-scientific features. But there's little need to doubt yourself. What you have done is nothing short of impressive. And regardless, everyone needs some relief._

 _I'll be available if you want to discuss anything with myself; however you shouldn't discount your family. They support you and want you to succeed. But the choice is your's. I just hope you're able to move on from what's bothering._

 _Sincerely,_

 _Roger Glausman"_

Lisa narrowed her eyes, hoping her vision would blur the letters. She had really done it now.

As she clicked out of the webpage, her fingers clenched the bridge of her nose. At this point, she was willing to do anything that would distract her from this revelation. She didn't need anyone's help.

She didn't know what caused these strange emotions, but she knew they had to stop. Lisa had read the dangers of suppressing emotions, but she didn't know any other alternative. The last thing she needed was to be told she wasn't ready for something. If her parents found out, they may not let her in the lab anymore. If Glausman found out, he would patronize her, deal with her problems the same way Mom did with Lily. That was unacceptable.

But then she remembered the project she was working on. That dreaded concoction of numbers and letters that started it all. At this point, she never wanted to see it again. She wished she could forget its existence and continue to pretend she was in the past, when even the most sophisticated projects were no match for her intelligence and impeccable record of perfection.

She had to do it. Sure, it seemed that she had told herself that a lot over the past few days. In fact, Lisa never recalled a time where she needed more reminders in such a short time frame. But that didn't matter. After all, the way to convince yourself something to true was to tell yourself it. Yeah. That was the problem. And that explained Charlie's downfall. He didn't do enough convincing.

But enough about what could be. Lisa needed to get to work.

* * *

 _The hardwood kitchen floor was comfy. Lisa barely noticed it wasn't her bed. It was just that cozy._

 _The room around her was so big that the whole world could squeeze right in. The beige plaster walls were so majestic. How could anyone have put them together? Not to mention the bright light in the ceiling, making everything possible to see. How did it work?_

 _"Alright Lisa, time to play!"_

 _It was Mama. Seeing her big, smiling face made her happy. She excitedly clapped her hands. Lisa didn't even care that her giant, loose palms rarely made contact. She just needed to get her happiness out there._

 _Still looking fondly on her, Mama hoisted Lisa onto her feet. It was only then that she could marvel how high up she was while standing on her own two feet. She greatly appreciated Mama's help. Mama was even kind enough to escort her into the living room, where her fellow sisters frolicked about._

 _Two older girls sat on the couch, fondly looking down on the ground. Both had striking blonde hair, but that's about where appearances ended. One sported a loose blue T-shirt along with grass-stained jeans while the other had a pink sweater and fashionably white pants. It didn't matter what their age number was. They just looked so big._

 _And on the ground was Lily. She was considerably smaller than the others, though that didn't mean she was a baby anymore. As she vroomed her toy truck across the ground, her head perked up and formed a grin._

 _"Hi Lisa! Wanna play?"_

 _"Yes!" Lisa said gleefully._

 _Bouncing to the ground, Lisa scavenged around for her own toy to use. When it came to playtime, there was both too much and not enough to go around. She always wondered where all the toys went. But it didn't take too long for her to pull out a small white rodent. Perfect._

 _"Oh, Not again," Mama said. Lisa turned to her as she kneeled down and snatched the mouse out of her hand, "we always have these little buggers getting in. They make such a mess."_

 _Just like that, the little guy disappeared. Despite Mama's protests, Lisa thought he looked kind of cute. Almost as cute as the flowers in the garden._

 _But before long, she noticed someone else. Behind her was another familiar figure. Aside from Mama, she was easily the biggest girl around. She still had that silly dress on, the one that couldn't decide if it wanted to be blue or green. Even with her wavy blonde hair in the way, she couldn't be bothered to move it. With a smile a mile wide, she colored along in that book of her's._

 _Curious, Lisa crawled her way over to the older girl. She just had to know what she was drawing. But unlike last time, she didn't pop her head up. The girl was too drawn to the paper to even think about what was around her. Who could blame her? Once she got close enough, Lisa saw words written in crayon along the paper._

"Lenees Book" _it read along the top, with a smiling sunshine next to it. It looked really cute._

 _"Hi Leni," Lisa said._

 _Well that got her attention. Leni dropped her crayon on the ground as her grin expanded even wider._

 _"Hi! Look at what I made!"_

 _And just like that, Leni grabbed the journal and held up the open pages for all to see. Perfect. Now she could see what her big sister had put together._

"2day haz ben gr8! I woke up and 8 sumthing reely yummy. It was gr8!"

 _Below lied a series of small doodles. Some had rainbows, other were like the sun on the top, and a few of them had ponies too. Seeing it all made Lisa smile too. As Leni put it, it was all simply wonderful._

 _"I love it!" Lisa said._

 _"Yay!" Leni cheered. She even dropped the book to clap her hands. But clumsiness never mattered around here. All that mattered was being happy with where one was. And this was paradise to say the least._

 _"Looks like everyone is having fun, here."_

 _Everyone turned to Mama, who looked the happiest of all. Her warmth emanated to every corner of the hazy room. Lisa wondered if this was what heaven looked like, almost too fuzzy to be real. But any doubt went out with the mouse when Mama came up to her and knelt beside her. Her, of all people._

 _Mama's gentle fingers graced Lisa's chin and perked it up to her elegant face. It was only then that she was allowed to see her reflection through Mama's eyes. Her face looked strikingly different. Gone were her chubby cheeks, thinning out into a more sharply defined shape. Her hair had grown long and flowing down the sides. She was surprised she didn't feel a single strand touch her broad shoulders. She must have been at least as old as the other two kids on the couch. At least older than four._

 _"Remember Lisa. You have nothing to worry about," she said warmly._

 _And just like that, Lisa forgot. Her own reflection fazed in with those compassionate eyes gazing down at her. And the doubts she had went straight out of her vicinity, as if she had only imagined it._

 _"As long as you're down here with us, you'll never have to be scared again. Whenever you need something, you'll always have someone else with you. You'll never have to work, or struggle, or think about anything."_

 _Lisa nodded. Her heart even fluttered as she accepted Mama's gospel. So this was bliss. Ignorance did wonders for the soul._

 _And she was left with that smiling face. Looking right down at her changing body. Throughout the ages, she would have guidance. And no matter how old she got, that face would remain exactly the same, never wavering and never giving way._

 _That was just the life Lisa was going to have..._


	6. Field Test

Her vertebrae propelled her to a sitting position. Her head jerked around, hoping her blurry eyes could capture her surroundings. It was the same familiar room, only pitch black. Lisa saw the vague outline of Lily's crib, where the lack of sound implied the infant was asleep.

After taking several deep breaths, she lowered herself down. Her face was beat with perspiration. The body and limbs broiled under the blanket's oppressive heat. And all she could wonder was how she would ever get back to sleep.

What was that dream all about? Lisa knew that they usually lacked meaning; dreams embodies the most primitive means of scaring people. But even with that knowledge, _this_ series of images and sounds shocked her into fright.

And even aware of dream's fictitious nature, she also knew that in occasion, they could reflect proper perspectives or notions buried deep beneath the consciousness.

Lisa's hands clamped to her temples. Her body trembled as she told herself to forget what she had seen. Most dreams could be forgotten almost instantly upon awakening. She repeated mantra after mantra, anything that would facilitate the deletion. So this was why people of average intelligence preferred to forget. It was only when she needed the ability the most when she finally came around to appreciating it.

She should be rewarded, Lisa thought. She paid her dues, fought against every natural instinct just to reach her state of mind. She withstood person after person tell her to "act her age", put down the book, or assume that her giant glasses and glass beakers were a part of a dress up game. What was so bad with sinking down just this once for a little relief?

Immediately, she remembered Mama's eyes, trembling her puny form. She gripped her blanket, desperately hoping that it would make her feel better.

"I wish I could forget!" she told herself.

But how much? How much was she willing to expunge to achieve that soothing comfort she longed for? Suddenly, the thought of warming up under that soft fabric felt...nice.

Lisa caught yet another glimpse of the white mouse. Algernon, she recalled. As the rodent was tossed to the side and forgotten, Lisa imagined life as something so small and...cuddly. Algie sounded like a more appropriate name.

If this were any other time, Lisa would have scoffed at using a term so simplistic. That wasn't how mature minds communicated. And great minds also didn't think in terms of how much ignorant bliss their neurotransmitters could conjur.

But the room's darkness did all the talking right here. The world felt so still and isolating. Everything felt large and terrifying, like being lost in yawning space. Stars capable of shining brilliance were lightyears away, leaving whatever tinges reflecting off her too remote to make her feel better. It was moments like these that the emotions inside her took over.

Logically, that had to be the way it went. Without light, what else was there to hold her up? She needed the warmth in the cold vacuum. She needed the security in the overwhelming solitude.

And for once, she was content with that. Turning off her brain to drown in her emotions allowed her to enjoy the blanket's toasty welcome.

* * *

The morning rolled around. Lisa didn't remember slipping, but she also couldn't remember any intervening events. Sleep just happened and due to the events of last night, she was alright with that.

There was little shame in forgetting, Lisa told herself. If she had any hope of solving her issues, it started with adopting a new attitude. And feeling those haunting eyes and isolating darkness, change couldn't come soon enough.

Lisa hopped out of bed and passed by Lily's crib. Normally, the inevitable commute was quick and lacked serious consideration. But now, she found reason to admire that youthful baby still asleep. Her feet eased to a pause while her head turned towards the crib. As she stood there, lacking any tension in her body, Lisa thought to herself that such anxiety had been there just moments before. This was her antidote, she tried telling herself. Lisa found this calming, a reminder of how blissful a simple life can be.

And this was okay. It's supposed to be okay. If she kept telling herself that everything would work itself out, it would. No more worries, no more fears, no more expectations or hopes. Because she already has everything she needed. So why should she be upset?

Lisa forced herself to keep looking at Lily, even with her eyes yearning for her to blink. What happened to that inner tranquility? Even though the room felt warmer, she wanted to believe it was alright.

Soon enough, the baby did the deciding for her. Lily popped open her eyes and perked her head up. As those youthful eyes met her own, Lisa didn't know what to say. What did most people use to talk to each other? How could she break this awkward lull?

"Salutations!" she blurted out, swinging her arm across her chest to boot.

Did that work? At this point, her eyes wavered about. What was the matter? Now she couldn't even look Lily in the eye, the only person in the room that gave her that initial relaxation. Everything was falling apart.

"Poo poo," she heard.

Lisa paused. It wasn't much, but it was something, she supposed. And now that Lily was awake, Lisa ought to get some fresh air. Yes. Fresh air was good because...

What was the reason again? She stumbled towards the door, scrapping her brain for precious scientific details. But even as she dug, nothing can up. Not one fact. It was as if everything she had previously learned had been locked in a safe, including the number combination. So what did that leave her with? Her body, Lily, this bedroom, and whatever else she could sense. Bare, raw stimuli was all her body could process at this point. What good was that type of organism?

Impossible, Lisa thought. There was no way all her knowledge and skills could have disappeared in the night. She was just getting emotional again, the bane of any serious observer of the natural world. Why was she trapped in such an insignificant, cumbersome body that entangled her with all this unnecessary additions? What purpose did they serve?

And why were they so persuasive?

Was this state of being always in her, waiting to be unleashed? Was it all in her head? Lisa sighed, regretting her inability to answer the questions she posed.

Leaving the room sounded appropriate, and that she did. As she made her exit, her eyes caught sight of the door directly across. Lola and Lana. Two of the figures from her dream. She wanted to think it was just a spur of the moment decision that led her to note that obvious observation.

Shrugging to herself, Lisa thought that maybe it was worth exploring. Maybe those two were up to something fun.

As she made the few steps to that door, she reminded herself of how rare this moment was. It wasn't every day where she just spontaneously popped into any one of her siblings' rooms. Aside from a lack of interest, Lisa typically wasn't one to have to answer their inquiries on why she got in their personal space. But as she leaped up and yanked the doorknob down, she figured that maybe breaking routine wouldn't hurt.

Entering the room, Lisa saw Lola and Lana in different corners, each attending to their own activities. It was a miracle that those two could get along, despite the conflicting natures of their interests. Lola was in the middle of brushing the "hair" on her plastic doll while Lana dug her hands into a pile of mud she had dragged in. Indeed, a miracle it was. But it didn't take long for Lola to look up and spot her.

"What do you want?" she asked, mildly irritated.

Lisa took a deep breath and adjusted her glasses. She thought to herself how out of character it was for her to just show up unless it was for some intellectual inquiry or minor utility. But throwing aside all doubts of her actions, she proceeded.

"I notice you two are playing," she said tensely. Suddenly, her hands tightened as well, "May I join you?"

"Sure!" Lana interjected. Snapping her head to the opposite corner, Lisa noticed her older sister's incomplete grin, along with the patches of mud smeared on her cheeks.

Mud wasn't exactly something Lisa saw as a toy. After all, it was home to millions and millions of...well...earth worms (she knew they had a bigger, fancier name, but that was beside the point...right?). And the "earth worms" lived in the mud and they made it nice and good. Good enough to fling on walls and splatter on her clothes?

Then again, Lisa wasn't too sure how willing Lola was to touch those dolls. Having observed the sibling's behavior, Lisa deduced that Lola was particularly protective of her property and established firm boundaries around her territory.

Lisa continued to examine Lola stroke the doll's hair, the hairdo straightening with each brush. Lisa ended up in a lull, her mind too busy with that simple, repetitive motion to do anything else. The brush gave off a soothing rhythm. It made her forget about the silly dilemmas before her, letting her be completely in the moment.

"What are you looking at me for?" Lola interjected, snapping her head up. Immediately, Lisa propelled herself back to reality. It was only then that she realized that she had been completely out of it, "Play with her! And keep that gloop over there."

Embarassed, Lisa scurried towards Lana. It was crazy to even consider the possibility of stroking artificial hair. Such an activity was so repetitive anyway. It was nothing like being around this wet, gloopy heap of mud on the ground. Not at all!

"So what is the," Lisa said before trailing off. What was the word she was looking for, "purpose of this?"

Lana perked her face into that quintessential childish grin.

"I'm making a mud pie," she said, extending her dirty hands outwards, "It's not much 'cus it hasn't rained in a while, but it's somethin'!"

Without a moment's hesitation, Lana scooped a handful from the pile and extended it towards Lisa.

"Want some?"

Having sat in the House for several days, the odor wasn't as strong as a fresh stash. No hints of rained-on grass or animal "leavings". But a thin strand of the mud's source remained. A faint smell was all Lisa needed to envision herself out on the lawn in the middle of a storm. What difference did it make? She didn't mind it so much anymore. Something about seeing the mess before her tingled her heart. For some reason, she wanted to touch it.

And indeed, Lisa swiped the whole thing out of Lana's hand. Any previous disposition towards mud went out the metaphorical window. The cool soft material sunk into her open palm, giving her a relief she wished she had just days prior. Lisa didn't need to think about anything. She just wanted to feel better, to be absolutely free.

Who cared about washing her hands? She didn't even notice the bullets of mud dripping on her pants. In fact, she whipped her other hand onto the gloop, letting the tense skin meet the rich soil.

Both of her palms rotated, squishing the mud in the process. More of it seeped down the ridge of her hands, some of it splattering on the carpet while others ended up on her clothes. But Lisa didn't want to care.

This felt good, she told herself. Lana loved playing with mud, and look at her. She's happy. She enjoys life. She's a kid. Why couldn't Little Lisa just accept that she deserved the same?

Lisa turned down to the mush in her hands. Despite the residue all over her body, the mud remained a large, singular mass in her hands. What was she going to do with it now? Certainly, she couldn't keep rolling it around in that cramped space. She knew she would get bored at some point. But as much as kids like her knew how to find fun in the simplest things, they also knew how to pick up the pace. Who needed order and consistency anyway?

And then she got an idea. She found a quick surge of panicked excitement wash over her? Lisa took one look at Lana, who was in the process of lathering some of the mud along her arm. As she locked eyes on that unsuspecting face, Lisa found her lips rolling into a devious grin. Was she actually going to do it?

Without time to think it through, Lisa raised the arm with the mud and launched forward. Miraculously, the mud remained in tact as it flung through the air. It was a perfectly potent bomb propelled towards Lana's clean face.

Splat. Bullseye. Target hit.

Lana's eyes widened. It took her several seconds to register the impact. Her hands raced to her face to try and scrape off some of the excess.

Lisa couldn't help herself. She giggled incessently, proud of her well-timed chuck. This was just the adrenaline boost she needed.

By then, Lana was grinning.

"Looks like you're getting the hang of it," Lana said slyly as her fingers caressed the mud in her hand.

"Why thank you," Lisa said slowly. Suddenly, the laughter was a bit harder to get out. Her throat felt narrower, "there wasn't much to it. I simply took into account-"

Pow. Her glasses shot back, digging deep into her nose's bridge. Mud filled up her rims, making it impossible to see through them.

So that's how it went. For once, she didn't mind the mess, nor the fact that she failed to notice the barreling projectile. If she was going to be stuck in a river, she might as well swim.

"How about we move outside?" Lana suggested.

"Yes."

"Finally," she heard Lola say. Of course she would be relieved.

Besides, now Lisa didn't have to be trapped anymore. She could let go of everything that was bothering her before. Who cared about problems? Problems were for those with intelligence and maturity. Certainly Lana would grow up at some point and move on to something great. But let's not get lost in thought, Lisa told herself. This is supposed to be a fun day.

She has to keep going.

Wiping the rest of the mud off her glasses, she followed Lana down the stairs and around to the backyard. Oh yes, the same spot she had gone to collect stuff for smart person things. How could she forget?

"Now _this_ is where the fun is," Lana declared, clamping her hands on her waist. Lisa gazed around, trying to find anything to pass the time. A tire swing, an excursion in the shed, letting Charles out to play. But before she could get any answers, Lana knelt down on the grass and lowered her head.

"What are you doing?" Lisa asked, approaching her.

"Checkin' on these little guys," she said as she lowered one of her filthy fingers into the dirt. An earthworm crawled up the appendage, curling along the finger's shape. It was a good thing their soft body couldn't cause actual construction. Once it settled down, Lana bounced to her feet and held it out, "His name's Larry. Wanna pet him?"

Lisa was hesitant. Normally, she would have been comfortable filling her hands with tons of these slimy creatures, taking their weight, feeling the coating on their...(what was the word)...outside, and analyzing their natural habitats. But now, the very thought of touching them felt weird. What was one to do?

"Come on," Lana said eagerly, "he doesn't bite."

Looking at the creature further, Lisa wasn't sure what to think. Sure it didn't have teeth, but it was slimey. She wasn't one to get her hands dirty.

 _"Oh wait..."_ Lisa thought as she remembered the mud on her face.

Well, she already went this far. Like the saying went, she supposed.

Lisa got on her knees and extended one of her fingers towards Lana's hand.

"Hey Larry," Lana said hushed, "this is my little sister Lisa. Go say 'hi'!"

The worm was slow to respond. At first, it just made tiny movements on Lana's hand, as if it was trying to make itself cozy. Lisa waited with baited breath, wondering if anything would change. Maybe Larry didn't like exposing itself to new surroundings? Was she really that unsettling? And what was Lana trying to accomplish here?

She looked up at her elder sister, who was too preoccupied focusing on the worm. Surely, she must have been wondering why Little Lisa suddenly decided to get down to her level. She'd imagine herself as often too self-important and prudish to get down in the mud for the simple sake of recreation. Or maybe Lana is waiting for the moment where Lisa would tell her this was just some kind of experiment. Perhaps Lana was anticipating something about the social dynamics of six-year-old children or how being hit in the face with mud would impact one's emotional state.

Surely, anyone Lana's age would have spit out that curiosity by now.

But it never came, just like the worm never wiggled to Lisa's finger. Lisa didn't know what to think about this.

"Lana," she said reluctantly.

That got her attention.

"Yeah?"

Now, she didn't know what she anticipated. Maybe it would have been just like when she asked Glausman a question. That gaze unifying burning curiousity and patient stillness made the process of seeking inquiry invigorating, as if she were tapping into another universe separate from the messiness everywhere else.

But seeing Lana cast that same look on her just made her more nervous. Lisa felt that no matter what came out of this, she would feel out of place in this setting. People didn't ask questions when they were playing like this. Curiosity was satiated not by bland discussion filled with words, but by stimulating emotions through the sights, sounds, smell, and texture. Nothing was right about any of this. But it was too late to turn back now.

"Do you think any of," she said before rolling her wrist, "this is even a little weird?"

There. She dropped it. Anything that happened next would come from a different motivation. Lisa just knew it. Indeed, Lana tilted her head forward, her lips as straight as a line.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

Wasn't it obvious, Lisa figured. Surely, Lana had to be smart enough to piece this all together.

"You know...me coming out to play with you. Me not taking samples from beakers or making measurements," she said, "You know, objectives I would ordinarily conduct in the field."

Lana blinked several times. Maybe now Lisa would get some answers. Maybe she could finally have a real conversation, anything that would get her out of this messy situation. But then, Lana shook her head.

"Of course not. We all gotta have fun sometimes, right?" She said. Just like that, her childish grin popped back up while Larry wiggled around her dirty finger.

"But I'm Lisa Loud," she shot back, "I'm supposed to be a scientific professional, channeling her energy into uncovering all of the universe's unanswered questions. I've given so much to making myself an effective researcher that to do anything else falls outside my element. I'm lost without science!"

"Even eggheads need to take it easy once in a while," Lana said calmly.

Lisa couldn't believe her ears. Here she was, being given a free ride to do nothing productive. Scratch that, _another_ free ride. This morning has filled her with nothing but nausea. Was this all really happening? Was there really mud on her hands and have the facts stored in her brain been incinerated.

But now wasn't the time to think. Sickness wasn't fun. Fun was fun. Lisa was going to enjoy herself, no matter how delirious it made her.

"What do you wanna do?"

Lana shrugged.

"How about tag?"

Of course. Nothing cleared one's thoughts more effectively than a nice, refreshing exercise. Once she got her body in motion, she would finally get the message.

"Tag! You're it!"

By goodness, it's already begun. Without even thinking, Lisa propelled her legs forward. Everything centered on one central goal: touch her sister with her sticky, disgusting hand. Just one touch. Lana certainly would. She started this crazy game.

But the other thing about Lana was speed. It wasn't Lisa's fault she had shorter legs than her sister. It wasn't her fault she hadn't found the time to exercise; she had wasted it thinking that studying would do her good. But none of that mattered anymore. She was attempting to come alive, to be one with her true self.

Inevitably, they ended up running in a circle. Lisa felt her momentum shift leftward, sucking into this endless cycle. Her shaky legs struggled to get a hold on the wet ground as the round force kept her moving. And yet, despite the dizzying whirlwind of motion, Lisa knew she was never going to catch up. For the briefest of moments, she thought there may have been some strategy that could break this automatic pattern and fix the problem.

How funny that was. Lisa dismissed any such possibility. This was the only way she could move. Forward and around. Forward and around.

It didn't matter that her breath was depleting. She had to keep going. She had to forget her struggle, run away from her worries, circle back around. Lisa thought doing this might make her escape the cycle. She couldn't bear this pain anymore.

By now, her footing quickly lost stability. Her legs flung in the air without coordination, creating mixed results on the miniature landings. Lisa's balance grew wobbly, her speed slowing. It couldn't be. She had to keep pushing forward. This was fun. She never felt more alive.

She couldn't continue. Lisa caved inward, and slid forward. Her body collapsed onto the wet grass, feeling the thud as she hit the ground. Her glasses pushed down her nose, but somehow stayed on undamaged. The pain was oddly faint.

"Yo. You okay, sis?" she heard Lana say.

Why did she stop? Lana should have kept going, not even noticing the little baby on the ground. It was her duty to dust herself off and keep going.

"Yes," She grumbled.

"I can get some ice for you."

"I'm fine."

She didn't hear anything after that. Instead, Lana entered her line of vision and sat down in front of her. What could her sister have possibly gained from this? Today was supposed to be a fun day, yet nothing about this produced even a little excitement. Lisa sighed as she pulled herself to a sitting position.

"Did you wanna take a break?" Lana asked.

She sadly nodded her head. Even Lana's face dampened a bit. Who ever thought emotions could communicate so well to other people. But even eggheads like her already knew that. Or did she?

"I'm gonna run inside real quick," Lana said as she climbed to her feet, "want some juice?"

"I'm all set."

"Okay."

As Lana raced inside, Lisa contemplated the blur of events. She got foggy visions of her Mama staring her down with those dreaded eyes. Her muddy hands trembled just seeing them before her. But they were only a dream. Right? And the mouse she chucked away. That didn't have any meaning whatsoever. It was a figment if her imagination. That story was eating her up again. But stories weren't real. After all, that procedure remained a piece of fiction.

So why did chills race up her spine? Why was all that pent up adrenaline flushing out of her body? Why was a voice telling her that this was to be her destiny? Her time was up and now she had to pay the price.

In exchange for a few flickering moments of unprecedented brilliance, Lisa was to be rewarded with an eternity of cold mud.


	7. When Science is All That You Have

Lana was just too kind.

Lisa gazed at the juicebox with the straw poked in for her. For once, she could feel the cold wetness of the mud on her hands. All it took was a little sense to knock her back down to reality. Rather than sipping down the processed juice, Lisa wanted to throw up.

"You okay, sis?" Lana asked, popping her head into her vision, "you don't look too hot."

"My physical and mental state are just fine," she said, resigned. Looking at the juice box, she wondered if she should take a sip. Lisa imagined how the cider-like taste would sit in her mouth. Her taste buds flared up as they simulated the acidic juice splashing the inside of her cheeks and seeping under her tongue. As her lips puckered up, she rejected the possibility. It was a mistake to ask for juice in the first place.

"You wanna head in?"

Head in? But she only just started. How could Lana possibly show her even a little pity when she's barely broken a sweat doing the very thing she was apparently built for. Lisa didn't know what to make of it all, except.

"Yes...please."

She was going to give up. Someone might have told her that living the simple life meant no rules, that she could have her mud pie and eat it too. But it wasn't that simple. Nothing was ever simple enough to explain away with this or that. No. Lisa needed expectations and here she was, throwing them away. So much for wanting to ever be a scientist; she couldn't even be a pig.

And now Lana was hoisting her to her feet as well. Lisa knew she had to make up her mind: rules or no rules. Now she was letting someone else do the work for her? At the very least, she could have kept her filth to herself. Gah.

As they headed inside, all Lisa could do was stare at her juice box, which now had stray wet grass strands on the cardboard. Maybe another sip was in order, except her mouth refreshed her memory of that bitter, sour taste.

Her limbs jolted as she was met by the kitchen's chill. She should have remembered that was one feature of going from outside to in. What caused that again? The answer hid behind the fog of dusk. In general, there was so much unknown. Just thinking about that fact sparked an innate frustration. Lisa knew she could have been better than this filthy animal. Where had it all gone? Where was Algernon to give her company?

"Oh, come on guys!"

She flinched as she recognized that voice cracking between high and low. Lisa turned and saw an exasperated Lincoln pace across the kitchen.

"Lana! I thought I told you not to track mud in the House!"

"Sorry bro," she answered. She then turned longingly towards Lisa. All the hunger sister could do was gawk. Why was she giving her those puppy-like eyes and dower face, "Got a little caught up in it all," Lana snapped her head back to Lincoln, "I'll clean it up."

Suddenly, Lisa felt a tap forward, towards her brother's annoyed face. But then, just like ice cream on it hot day, that feeling melted away, replacing itself with something gloopy and gross. Lisa winced as she saw her brother's entire demeanor transform.

"What's going on, Lisa? You don't look right," he said, his voice overflowing in concern.

"What makes you so sure?" she asked nervously.

Taking advantage of their close proximity, Lincoln cupped his hand to her shoulder and nudged her along. Looking up, she saw that saccharine face, trying to balance concern with an active effort to encourage.

"Come on," Lincoln said softly, "let's get you cleaned up."

Lisa could only imagine what was about to happen. He would do everything for her: unclothe her, fill the tub with shampoo, scrub her down, and treat her like she was only four years old. Who did he think he is, trying to baby her like that.

And yet, her legs kept easing along. Something in her body kept her from resisting outright. And certainly, her failure to produce words only made matters worse. Lisa didn't know what to say. In that moment, she found herself unable to create a fuss. After all, she had already drawn attention to herself with all that mud on her face. Maybe he would clean her glasses while she was at it. And so, despite her better instincts, Lisa found herself being guided up the stairs to the bathroom. Not a word was said the whole way there.

In fact, Lisa also remained silent as Lincoln proceeded to do the very things she had foreseen. Her naked body tensed up as the somewhat protective clothes were stripped away from her. Goosebumps surfaced beneath the damp skin coated with splotches of mud and strands of wet grass. Every limb contracted as it tried to protect itself from the chill. She wanted to puke.

Things only got worse as she dipped her fingers in the tub, filled to the brim with bubbles. Lincoln really had to go this far for her. Didn't he? She turned to him and his oddly smiling face. Any trace of sadness or damped motivation had dissipated.

"Don't be shy," he said cutely, "hop on in."

For crying out loud, she was getting there. Or at least, that was what she wanted to tell herself. Lisa knew she needed a bath to get out the filth (or at least, the type that was on the outside).

Even with the bubbles, the water seemingly scalded her as she slid in. Beads of sweat quickly accumulated on her forehead as the warmth enveloped her. So was the first signs of fever, she figured.

"Now," she heard Lincoln say, "wanna share what's going on?"

Lisa winced as a prickled loofa grazed her bath. She felt it stroked along her weary skin, rejuvenating it with the bubbly soap. But even though, she couldn't stop thinking about Lana and that stupid gap in her tooth, her ridiculous Southern accent, and her endless frolicking in the "pig pen". Revisiting what had bombarded her outside constricted her breath.

"She makes it look _so_ easy," she said reluctantly.

"What do you mean?"

"Lana," she replied as one of her hands shot up from the foamy surface, "All she has to do is throw mud and act like an animal," just like that, the certain hand sunk back down. She sighed, "I thought that was my calling."

"Uh...you do know that Lana is your sister. What makes you think that's all she is?"

What _isn't_ there? If this morning was any indication, to call Lana anything else was uncharacteristic.

"How many times do you see her ask for the 'good part' of the pie when she really just means the burnt crumbs on the bottom?" Lisa said sharply, "What about her fondness of the dump or insistence on spending every waking moment getting dirty?

"Well ok. So she likes to stick her hands where no one else wants to. But that doesn't make her or anyone a bad person," Lincoln said. Lisa winced at that thought. How can anyone go about their lives doing absolutely nothing of value to society? From beneath the bubbly water, Lisa squeezed her fists and clenched her teeth. At heart, Lana was nothing more than a childish animal. That was her label, the thing that gave her stability and made her happy.

"If anything, Lana works really hard on a lot of things," he continued, forcing some unwanted images into Lisa's head. She could only sit like a rock while Lincoln rattled them off, "Taking care of the pets, fixing Vanzilla, building a doghouse for Charles. She even went door to door to try and protect a pond of endangered fish. She's anything but a muddy animal. Give her some credit."

"Give me a break!" she exclaimed.

"Woah. Turn it down a few notches, will ya?"

"Ugh," Lisa groaned. Her fists shot up from the water before slamming back down, splashing the foam everywhere, "Why can't things ever just be easy?"

It was a bit excessive, sure, but Lisa didn't regret her words. Her heart felt like a boulder at the bottom of the ocean, burdened by the water's tremendous pressure. Meanwhile, the bullets of sweat on her face had started their slow trickle down her face. With each passing moment, she wasn't sure which would kill her first: suffocation or melting.

"What are you talking about?"

Just like that, Lincoln's voice cut through like a cool breeze. Wasn't her agony obvious? Was her brother just trying to make her feel like she has something to teach? She sighed. This probably had nothing to do with intelligence, she figured. And now, with Lincoln in the room, she found a question.

"Brother, do you enjoy being the male in this household?"

"I, uh, guess so."

Lisa waded her hand through some more bubbles. She felt her brother scratch clumps of her damp hair with the rejuvenating shampoo.

"Do you enjoy being surrounded by so many female human residents that you feel like being male is the only feature that makes you stand out?" she asked, trying to focus more on the bubbles in front of her than the back and forth pulling of her scalp.

"Uh...sure. I don't really think about it."

"Is that _really_ the case, though?" she replied. Here was Lincoln trying to sound like he doesn't get bogged down by anything. Sometimes, it concerned her that his brother sounded like he was holding in his troubles, acting like they don't even exist. But here, couldn't he see that this issue was so fundamental, no one could escape it. Or at least, she wanted to tell herself she wasn't alone, "You're telling me it doesn't cross your mind every so often?"

She turned to Lincoln, who sheepishly lurched his shoulders forward and let his eyes wander. He held that soap as if it were some prop that could support any case he may have made. Lisa figured she had him caught.

"It's not like I never think about it," he said before fiddling the bar between his slippery fingers, "But, y'know, it doesn't keep me up at night."

No. It wasn't going to be this way. There had to be more behind it.

"Come on. Out with it!" she exclaimed, "There must be some days where you wake up in the morning and the first thing you remind yourself is 'I'm the guy of the House' and that makes me special or weird or anything."

Surely he had to crack at some point. Lisa had to have this. She needed that assurance that regardless of the trials she went through during this regression, she at least knew that others would feel her pain and recognize that it was a terrible loss.

"Well, why does that matter? I didn't choose to be a guy," he said as he placed a soapy sponge on her back. Lisa winced as she felt its prickly surface hit the skin, "And you're not a girl because you like it better. It's...just how it is. Nothing more."

All she could feel was that terrible sponge gnawing on her. She wondered if she could get a rash from how rough he scrubbed her.

"But it has to give you something," Lisa shot back, hoping it would drown out the irritation, "Think about it. In a family as big as our's, we all need something to make us stand out from the rest of the crowd. But not just anything. I mean something really big. Like a talent, or a, uh, defining feature that makes you who you are. Luna is the musician. Lynn is the athlete. Lola is the model. You are the guy."

"But that isn't all who we are," Lincoln said. As he finally lifted the sponge from her skin, Lisa turned to her brother. Once again, he used that foamy thing as a prop to disguise his eye wandering and his overly casual demeanor, "Sure I'm a guy, but I also love my sisters. I like comic books and I've been learning to cook too. There's way more to me than just being a guy."

"And how does that make you feel?"

"Fine."

Really? That was all the emotion he could muster all? Taking in the pain of being in a House like this, being ostracized for what he likes, being forced to be everyone else's servant, and whatever else filled up his troubled life? Fine?

Lisa wasn't sure what to make of it all. She stared her brother in the eye, trying to find the pent-up suffering hiding behind the surface. It was waiting to break out, to agree with Lisa and admit that his identity was all that he had. Lincoln was the boy of the House. That distinction was the silver lining that made all the costs worth it. Even if he could never find someone else to agree with him on what to watch on TV or on what store in the Mall to go to, at least he didn't have another scrawny male Loud to steal his thunder.

But this? What did this leave her with? She felt her upper chest cavity hallow out as she sighed.

"All this time, I thought I was the smart one," she said slowly. Her head fell to the bubbly water, "My whole life was about science and answering the questions humanity couldn't answer. But it was never meant to last. And now look at me. First I wasted everyone's time trying to solve some silly theory. Then I messed up the lab! Gah! I'm just like Algernon and Charlie. The only thing that gives me any worth is gone."

The recent memories poured into the tub, threatening to drown poor Lisa under the weight and suffocating density. Her body slid downward until her lips were touching the foam. Those bubbles tickled the sealed orifice, threatening to creep into her mouth and finish the deed themselves.

"Lisa," he said, placing his dry hand on her soappy shoulder, "of course you're smart. You can do all kinds of things."

"Used to," she snapped, "But now I can't even bathe myself anymore."

Her eyes transfixed on those sad bubbles, rising to the surface only to pop the moment they hit the light. It was a part of their physical properties, to form, to rise, to pop. But at some point, even scientific reasoning gave way to emotional longing. Lisa hated to see some of those bubbles vanish. They were remarkable for their shape, their liberty, their shiny glow.

"Lisa...tell me what's wrong?"

She sighed.

"What more is there to say?"

"Who are Charlie and Algernon?"

Those two characters flashed in her mind. Charlie, the oafish human male that sprung to life and crumpled like the pages of Lynn's school book in her bag. Algernon, the innocent white mouse that rejected its place in the world, transcended it, and paid an awful price. And Lynn. The troublemaker sister. Just thinking about her cocky voice, those footsteps racing away from her room after leaving her with her homework. Her obnoxious chanting. Her utter refusal to recognize basic signs of courtesy. Lisa tightened her fists as they swirled around, producing shaky currents in the water.

"They're characters from this accursed story Lynn made me read because she's too lazy to do anything by herself. Typical jock. Can't even be bothered to pick up a freakin' book!" she exclaimed. For the briefest of moments, she didn't care if she splashed Lincoln by accident or allowed the water to hit the tile floor. She felt removed from her body, which moved like the water surrounding it.

"Woah. Take a breather."

"It's so frustrating!" she shot back. And just like that, her fists launched out of the water, catapulting the foam and unblemished water up in a splash. Ignoring the chill that struck her exposed arms, she wrapped them around her chest.

What did Lynn know after all? Where was she when she needed to see what her negligence had done?

"Do you want to tell me more about this book?" he asked softly.

"I want to not feel like garbage."

Lisa huffed. Sure, Lincoln was cleaning her up, scrapping off the mud and wiping away the grass. But what good did any of that do? Deep down, everything hurt. Her limbs were condemned to be sore for the rest of the day. All her inner organs felt like they were sagging downward, fighting their natural positions and leaving searing pain in the process. But most of all, migranes dominated her head. All she wanted to do was lay it down on a pillow; at this point, even the hard porcelain edge of the bathtub would have been accommodating.

"I think you're burnt out, Lisa," Lincoln said as he gently applied more shampoo. She flinched as she realized it wasn't the raggedy sponge of a loofa, but the warm soft touch of her brother's hands. Feeling that warm contact eased her muscles and made the gesture easy to accept, at least at first, "Maybe you should take a break from science."

Then again, Lisa knew she couldn't get too deep in sentimentality.

"What?!" she said hoarsely, "I-I can't do that! Without science, I am but a hollow mass of flesh! Useless! A waste of carbon and earthly mater-"

"Lisa," he interjected.

She paused.

"Uh...yeah?"

"I didn't say to give up science forever. Just, y'know, take some time to do other stuff," Lincoln said. His hands reached up to her shoulders, which he proceeded to massage. Lisa's neck lurched forward as these supports shifted and rolled back and forth.

"B-But, what am I supposed to do? I can't be an animal. I have no sense of humor. Very few things engage me other than scientific inquiry," she said nervously. By then, any fight in her voice, to shout back, had faded away, replaced with a sad resignation, "I feel lost without it."

"It's okay to take a break, sometimes. I bet even those big-wig professors you work with take a break every once in a while."

"But I wanna be the best. Winners never take days off."

"Sure they do. Clearly, this whole thing has sent you into a tailspin. Maybe stepping back can give you some perspective."

Lisa shuddered at the thought. Suddenly, his brother's touch mutated into a overbearing hand trying to shove a pill of ignorance down her throat. Did he want her to become Charlie? That must have been the answer to all this. Whatever happened to "Follow your dreams" or "Work hard and you shall be rewarded"? Wasted. They were just lies invented by her superiors to keep her in line. It was easy to revert to idleness when it didn't bother anyone. After all, no one wanted someone to raise a fuss or try to break the mold. At this point, Lisa felt sweat re-emerge on her forehead.

"I-I...But I don't want to," she said. For crying out loud, even words were failing her. Come on, Lisa told herself, "I want to be smart."

"I know you do, but look at yourself," Lincoln said. At long last, he relieved his oppressive grip and held up his soapy hands, "For years, you never let anything get to you. Nobody could hurt you. And now you've let some story wreck you. It's not even real."

"Gee...thanks for the reminder."

"What I'm trying to say is that we all have so much juice in the tank. We can refill it and there's nothing wrong with that. In order to do that, we need to slow down, step back, and see that no one is alone. There's no shame in that. But if you keep going on, you're only gonna feel worse. You'll lose sight of what really matters."

"But..."

"Look. Do it for yourself. As your big brother, I'll support you no matter what. If for nobody else, step back to make yourself happy. Everything else will fall in line. I promise."

Her head collapsed. So much of her was tempted to agree. Lisa got flickers of memories of reading articles about burnout and books about the psychological processes surrounding productivity. And above all, she remembered scoffing at all these assertions. Silly humans, she thought. Most of them were so limited that anything could tire out their feeble little brains. But her? Ha, she could go on for days if her dreaded body didn't demand sleep. As if that wasn't enough, all those slobs also insisted on spending all their waking hours sitting around, eating chips, and rotting their capacities through mindless drivel. Oh, how she longed to reclaim that sense of pride.

Now look at her. Every limb in her body was sore, yearning for a massage from her thoughtful older brother. That proof she's been working on? Just thinking about it gave her a headache, let alone sitting on the cold, hard, wooden seat struggling to focus her weary eyes on the messy pencil drawings, distracted by all the papers and eraser shavings and crap tossed on the desk. And all the while, the process was bound to wear her down even more. The fact that she rarely cleaned that space anyway was besides the point. It was all...so...crowded.

But then, just like that, her head snapped back up. Out of thin air, a new life awoke in her. Lincoln said he would support her no matter what. For nothing else, make herself happy. Well, now she had the answer to that very problem. With a newfound grin, Lisa jumped to her feet.

"Easy there," Lincoln said playfully.

"Thank you, Lincoln," she said confidently, "I know what I must do now."

"That's great! Here," he said, lifting a towel, "let's get you all dried up and then, we could go down to watch a movie."

Lisa chuckled and snatched the towel from his paternalistic talons. Even his relieved smile couldn't withstand the surprise of her sudden gesture. Little did he, or anyone know, what Lisa Loud still had in her.

"I'm all set," she said as she scrubbed the rugged cloth across her face, through the clumps of brown hair and down her vulnerable skin. The quicker she finished this, the sooner she could move on and he could get out of her face. She didn't need any more assistance from that boy named Lincoln.

Next there were the clean clothes Lincoln had set out for her, all nice and folded on the top of the counter. She bounced as she reached out her desperate hand, hoping to get even a clump of the refreshing fabric in her grip. It was a stretch, but she got the job done. No, she didn't need a lift, thank you very much. And she especially need his doting hands getting her into her sweater or pants. No, Lisa Loud was going to do it all by herself. And indeed, she slipped on the green sweater one arm at a time and her maroon pants on one foot at a time. Now, she was all ready to face the next challenge. And she knew exactly, where to go.


End file.
